


Letters Leading to my Heart

by Everything_Is_Permitted



Series: Lost Letters of the British Postal System [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Bisexual Jacob Frye, Current Deadnaming, Evie and Henry are getting married, Evie is Supportive, Gay Disaster Ned Wynert, Hurt/Comfort, I dunno if that falls under torture, I know I hate it too but its for the angst, I'm adding it anyway, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's a little graphic, It's only in two scenes but it's there and I forgot to add it in the tags sorry guys, Jacob is a giant puppy, Jacob spirals, Kidnapping, M/M, Maxwell Roth is a dickhead, Minor Character Death, Minor Jacob Frye/Maxwell Roth, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Misgendering, Period Typical Transphobia, Self-Harm, Transphobia that makes you go "yeesh", dead naming, minor miscommunication, past abusive relationship, past gender conversion therapy, post The Last Maharaja DLC, someone does get burned alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 88,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25764274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everything_Is_Permitted/pseuds/Everything_Is_Permitted
Summary: Evie is... Getting married.It's not that Jacob isn't insanely happy for her and Greenie. Nor is it that come 1870, he's going to be properly alone for the first time in his life. No, he's happy for them, and he was sure that his life in London would soon go back to normal.Except, when Ned Wynert rolls into his life with that bad attitude and an irresistible offer, Jacob finds that maybe, just maybe, life doesn't have to be exactly like it was. The life he knows is about to get a whole lot more interesting, what with the missing Indian Assassins and all the theft Ned has in store for them.Whatever goes wrong with him in the thick of it will just have to wait.
Relationships: Jacob Frye/Ned Wynert, also referenced Jacob Frye/Maxwell Roth, implied Jacob Frye/Maxwell Roth, minor Evie Frye/Henry green | Jayadeep Mir - Relationship
Series: Lost Letters of the British Postal System [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048333
Comments: 72
Kudos: 52





	1. It’s Simply Business

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Most Spectacular Show](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068822) by [AlwaysAmused](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysAmused/pseuds/AlwaysAmused). 



> I'd like to thank my lovely discord friends Lauren and Bella for Beta-ing this first chapter and the subsequent chapters when I get them into my computer.
> 
> I really have no idea how building cases against tax fraud, or committing tax fraud works so please excuse me. 
> 
> I'd also like to mention that oh boye does Roth appear as a voice in Jacobs head. Cause lemme tell you.
> 
> If I get anything wrong in the accurate portrayal of ftm or bisexual characters, please let me know and I'll fix it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The London springtime is pretty, sure. Flowering vines creeping up strand walls. Parks filled with families and children taking advantage of the new warmth. Jacob found it lovely, watching them have fun with each other. It reminded him why his work was important. Why maybe his work as an Assassin would never be done.

He sat on someone’s roof overlooking St. James’ park. His coat sat in a heap beside him, easily accessible. It was too warm to be wearing the thing, but he wasn’t stupid enough to be going anywhere unarmed. So when he heard tiles shifting gently behind him, his hand darted to the throwing knife pouch hanging off his belt.

“It’s just me, Jacob,” said a gentle voice. Evie’s voice. He relaxed and threw her a grin over his shoulder.

“Care for a seat, dear sister?” He asked, patting a spot on the tiles beside him. Evie nods and takes a seat. She pulled out a bottle of lemonade, popped the cork off and offered it to him. He grabbed it and took a sip. Evie was smiling more than she would on another day. The smile she has when Greenie is talking about his flowers and she thinks Jacob isn’t watching her. There were even small flowers littering her braids. He gestured to the bottle and in her general direction, placing the lemonade on the roof. “What’s the occasion?”

“This.” Evie beamed, pulling a new, very small braid from a sheath on her thigh. It was too small to be used as anything other than a throwing knife.

“A throwing knife?” He regarded it suspiciously, as if it had done something wrong. The handle twisted innocently, marked with the small triangles he always thought were thorns. He recognised that pattern. “ _Greenie’s_ throwing knife.” The knife was certainly over-kept, polished to a shine, with a small pink gemstone embedded just under the blade. The blade was useless for throwing, the gemstone would have thrown off it’s balance entirely. “It’s useless now.”

“It’s a marriage proposal.” Evie was practically glowing, despite whacking Jacob on the arm. Jacob huffed a laugh. There’s no way she was serious. The two of them had been courting for almost a year now and Jacob wasn’t sure how much of their tooth-aching sweetness he could take. “Half of his marriage proposal. He gave me a bouquet of flowers, then the knife. It’s an old Punjab tradition, presenting the woman you want to marry a knife you protected her wi- Jacob you’re squishing me!”

Indeed he was. He’d reached over and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. There was the warmest feeling in his chest and he couldn’t help but laugh in his joy. Evie elbowed him in the ribs, forcing him to let her go.

“When?” he asked, the joy still evident in his voice. He glanced back at the knife, raising an eyebrow. It was way too small to really protect anyone. And horribly unbalanced. “And when did he protect you with _that_?”

  
“He proposed this morning, on the train. After I went home from breakfast this morning. He gave me the bouquet and the knife. Asked me to marry him.” She trailed off, gazing lovingly at the weapon. She twirled it in her fingers then slid it back into its sheath. “It’s the knife he threw at Starrick, to distract him. He had it polished and set later.”

“And I’m left to wonder if _I_ get a proposal,” Jacob joked, leaning back to soak up the sun.

“Well I’m sure if he knew you had a taste for men, you’d get one too.”

Jacob knew that when he told her he worked out he was attracted to men she wouldn’t mind. He wasn’t as sure she would be as open to hearing his first experience of homoromanticism was Maxwell Roth.

_It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Darling._

Don’t think about Roth.

“We’d like to get married in India. December or January.” Evie mused. Jacob’s happiness soured.

“Before Christmas?” His smile had dropped and he sincerely hoped he wasn’t pouting like a child. The disappointment certainly made him feel like a child. The two of them had never missed a Christmas together. Last year they even had Freddie make it. Evie looked at him quizzically.

“You want us to stay for Christmas?”

“Of course.” Evie’s mouth pinched to one side, looking thoughtful.

“Nothing is set in stone just yet. Jaya hasn’t had his banishment revoked so we have a lot of waiting to do.”

“Jaya?”

“Mister Green. His name is Jayadeep.”

Jacob nodded slowly. He’d have to get used to that. Before he could respond, he heard a bell chiming somewhere. _Shit_. He grabbed his watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. He was going to be late. He hurriedly grabbed his coat and shoved the watch back into his pocket. Pulling the coat on along with his gauntlet, he stood himself up.

“Where are you off to?” Evie asked, standing with him.

“Wynert told me he has something exciting to show me. We have a meeting at one o’clock.” He adjusted his hat and patted himself down. He didn’t want to leave anything behind.

“You? On time? Are you sure you’re my brother?”

“I’m just doing what I’m told. Thanks for the lemonade.” He grinned at her one more time before ziplining off into the streets.  
\---  
There are two surefire ways to annoy Ned Wynert. One is to climb into his office through his window. The second is to disorganise the books on his shelf.

The latter had cost Jacob an afternoon filled with completely reorganising the bookshelf and a lecture from Wynert.

He was never doing that again.

Jacob popped out of a cart of leaves like a daisy in the spring, startling a few women crossing the street. He darted past them and toward the warehouse on the opposite corner.

_**Wynert Transit Company.** _

Jacob snorted at the name. Even though some of Wynert’s business was legal, he always found the name a bit obnoxious. For a thief.

He crossed the courtyard and grabbed onto the wall. Waving to a gaggle of rooks calling to him, he grabbed the side of the wall and began to climb. Wynert’s office was on the third floor and laughably easy to climb to. The pattern of jutting bricks was practically a ladder. He was surprised the Bobbies hadn’t tried getting up this way yet. He perched underneath one of the four windows and peered inside.

It was a fairly large office, well-furnished with pretty furniture. Things Jacob thought he’d expect to see in a gentleman’s club. Wynert was behind his desk, doing something Jacob couldn’t see. He knocked on the window, making the American looked up from his desk. He scanned the windows for the sound, certainly on edge. Upon seeing Jacob, he looked back down at his desk. Jacob could almost feel him rolling his eyes. He only grinned and knocked harder. This time, Wynert’s chest rose and fell in what could be a heavy sigh. He pushed away from his desk and crossed the room. The window screeched on its runners as it was pushed up for Wynert to stick his head out the gap.

“I swear to God Frye, if I didn’t need this window for quick getaways, I’d put bars up,” he reprimanded, stepping away to let Jacob in. The Assassin ducked in through the frame and stowed his hat in his coat. What? His grandmother raised him properly.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, too, Wynert. My day’s been lovely, how was yours?”

“Why can’t you use the door and tell Julie-Anne you’re here?” He rounded Jacob and walked to the door, sticking his head out of it. “Julie? Jacob Frye’s here, I’m gonna lock the door.” Julie said something inaudible, and the door closed with a click.

“It’s easier to climb.” Wynert had plopped down into his chair, moving some papers around. Jacob hovered, taking a look around the room again. The desk sat in the best lit part of the room. It was surprisingly cluttered, papers strewn about it in no real order. Usually, Wynert’s desk was the picture of cleanliness. It probably made him look more legitimate than he already did. There was a wall of bookshelves by the door, full of neatly arranged—Jacob tried his hardest not to shudder—books on all sorts of subjects. There was an open music box sitting on a pretty cabinet. A low table was set in the room’s centre surrounded by two lounges and holding a glass decanter full of amber liquid. The place seeped with class, and Jacob always found it funny how this place was in a Southwark warehouse.

“You just think Julie has a crush on you.” the American said. Jacob started, pivoting to face the desk. Wynert gestured for him to sit and he obliged, swivelling the chair to face him and straddling it. “I’ll make this quick; tax collectors are up my ass.”

“When did _you_ pay taxes?” Jacob gave him a bemused grin. Wynert didn’t look up from his rifling of papers.

“I have a legitimate business, Frye. I pay taxes.”

Jacob chuckled at the claim, but kept quiet. Whatever Wynert had planned sounded intriguing and Jacob didn’t want to give that up by being an ass. He also liked Wynert and didn’t want to piss him off. Much.

“I’ve come across—c’mon where is it? Ah! Here. I’ve come across some correspondence between a Mr. Carleton and a Mr. Friskley,” He reached over the table to hand Jacob a printed piece of paper. A train timetable, written with that new writing machine. Typewriter? He didn’t know.

“A train robbery?” He smoothed it out on his knee, giving it a quick scan. Postal trains, by the looks of it. He placed it back on the desk.

“Exactly. I want you to find whatever you can addressed to these two gentlemen. Some of their letters mistakenly turned up in my mailbox, so I took the liberty of reading them—”

“How rude”.

“—And they have something I want. Something I could make a great deal of money from.”

“Selling back to them?”

“And then selling it myself. They mention some sort of recipe and production in India.”

“You have no idea what it is.”

“I’m working on that part.”

“And if it turns out like Soothing Syrup?”

“Then I’m burning those factories myself.” Ned waved his hand in a shooing motion. “You should be getting gone, Frye,” Wynert probably tried to sound nonchalant about it, but the man was practically bouncing out of his seat with anticipation. The excitement was infectious apparently. Jacob was getting the same jittery feeling that he got whenever something excited him. He stood from the chair, already headed to the window.

“When does the train get to Cannon Street?” Jacob asked, pushing the window up. Wynert gestured at the timetable but ignored it regardless.

“Ten minutes, can you make that?

“Easy.” Jacob popped his hat back out, placed it on his head and vaulted out the gap. He was already halfway down the wall when Wynert yelled at him to close the damn window.  
\---  
Jacob caught that train. Easily. If you call a face full of soot easily. At least he didn’t have to run after it this time. He dropped onto the end car from the station’s rafters and took a moment to balance.

_Deep breath in._

Jacob let the colours of the world wash away and the greyness take over. His eyes wandered up the length of the train. 5 carriages. Two red silhouettes standing in the middle car. No gold though. It was either the wrong train or the envelope was too small to see. He’d just have to look the long way. He sighed and blinked the greys away, focusing his gaze on the two silhouettes in the centre car. He’d start there.

He darted across the first two cars and dropped down onto the joiner platform of the third. A typical “reinforcement” style secured car, heavy dark iron doors with an equally heavy lock. Nothing terribly difficult to pick. Unless there was a bar drawn across the door inside. He pulled out his lock picks and slid them into the padlock. A small amount of feeling around later and it was open. He pulled it off and kicked the door in.

That’d be his red figures. Two blighters, startled by the ruckus and already drawing some sturdy knives from wherever they kept them.

“‘Ello boys.” He engaged, walking into the car with the same amount of snark as a strutting peacock. “You wouldn’t have any stray mail, would you? I’m afraid I’ve mislabeled my letter.”

Apparently not. One of them started stalking toward Jacob, hands up and on the defensive. The Assassin rolled his eyes. Grabbing him by the scruff of his collar, he acquainted his knee with the other man’s stomach. Hard. The blighter hit the deck groaning. Jacob kicked his knife away and wheeled on Blighter Number Two. “No mail to a Mr. Carleton? Or a Mr. Friskley?”

A sword came whooshing toward him. He ducked out of its way. Knuckles on, he punched the man square in the chest. There was a definite crack. He joined his mate on the floor. Jacob crouched to look them in the eye, even going as far as grabbing Blighter One’s face to get a good look at him. He put on a grave expression, loosely lacing his fingers together.

“Now, I really should kill you, but I’m a bit pressed for time. Where’s the letter?” One of them—the one with the broken ribs—simply spat in his face. “Charming.” He wiped the saliva off his cheek and the world washed grey once again. Being closer to his target usually helped see it better. His gaze swept over the drawers mounted into the wall. It would be best if the blighters in the train car meant the envelope would be here, but it was probably just coinc—there.

A small golden rectangle nestled among the white. He straightened up and stepped over the blighters toward the drawer. Thankfully it wasn’t locked and slid open fairly easily. He pulled the envelope out to check the address on the front, after returning the colour to his vision.

Mr Frederick Carleton, 5 Baker Street, Westminster, London.

He smirked in satisfaction, pocketing the letter. Hearing the sound of the knife being picked up off the ground, he sidestepped just in time to avoid a knife to the back. He grabbed the man by the back of the head, flicked out his hidden blade and drove it into his neck. The dead man dropped onto him, allowing Jacob to heft him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He regarded the poor sod with the broken ribs. They’d heal if he gave them time. He stepped over the man and out onto the connection platform, throwing the body onto the tracks. Some poor arse was likely to pick him up, but Jacob would be long gone by then.


	2. Catching A Break is Not On My Agenda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which letters are obtained, the Thief wonders, great shocks are had and cargo is put in danger.

Ned Wynert had locked all of his windows and was adamant he wasn’t going to open them for anyone. Not even if Frye gave him puppy eyes. Not even if he was getting a little sweaty. He’d just roll up his sleeves. Frye would just have to use the stairs. 

So there he sat. Sleeves rolled up, jacket hanging off the hat stand, doing paperwork. With the amount of bookkeeping he’d been doing lately to hide his less legitimate income probably meant the police were onto building a strong case against him. Close, but no cigar. There was no way he was being caught again. He couldn’t rely on Frye coming to his rescue like last year.

_Taptaptaptap_

That must be Frye. Ned groaned and dropped his pen onto the desk with a clatter. He took a deep breath to steady himself as the tapping grew more insistent.

_Taptaptaptaptaptap_

He looked out the window and met Frye’s gaze. The man was grinning in at him but he simply jabbed a finger in the door’s general direction. The man looked at him like a kicked puppy but he simply jabbed his finger toward the door again. Dropping his arm, he went back to work. Maybe if he ignored him Frye would use the stairs.

He closed the register he was working on for now and got to work making his desk look like it wasn’t in shambles. He picked up one pile and idly straightened the documents in it. He really hoped Frye had gotten the letter. If he hadn’t, then this entire day was wasted and the endeavour probably over. Sometimes Ned wondered if the Frye twins came to London for the same reason he had, to make a name for themselves. They might have, for all he knew. They were incredibly private. Even though they were open about their business with the Rooks, and Frye loved giving his personal anecdotes whenever he had the chance, he knew next to nothing about them. What he did know is that ever since they came to London, havoc had come and gone so quickly it was hard to tell exactly who caused it and who benefited from it.

He flicked through the pile in his hands, making sure everything was in date order. He stood and placed it in the document safe behind his desk. Tying them together could wait until later. Looking back at it now, so many big names in London had died last year. Pearl Attaway and Malcom Milner were dead, which opened a lot of trade routes for his business _and_ got him the internal combustion engines. Maxwell Roth was dead. That in itself was a relief. Roth and his Blighters were a menace to his business and a danger to Ned’s person. He chuckled to himself. It was stupid to think Attaway died because of those two. Frye was a smarmy ass but he wasn’t the type to kill someone unless they screwed with the Rooks. Was he? 

Ned shook himself off. No. It wasn’t the Frye Twins. It was probably some power grab by the General Omnibus Company. Dame Frye didn’t seem like the type to spread discord either. He shut the safe and locked it. Their arrival and the ruin of both companies was pure coincidence.

He turned back to his desk just as there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called, grabbing a pile of envelopes to straighten them up as well. The door swung open and in stepped Frye. He stopped at the sight of Ned, and the American could _feel_ his gaze crawling over him. He folded his arms in an attempt to hide the rising warmth he felt climbing his cheeks. It didn’t make it any better. “Get off it Frye. Did you get the letter?”

“Is that even a question?” Frye replied, pulling an envelope from his coat pocket and tossed onto Ned’s desk. “Do you mind? It’s hot in here,” he gestured at the lapel of his coat. Ned waved him off and got to work prying the wax seal off the back of the letter.

The parchment had been folded into a mailable envelope, and the inside was full of tiny lettering. A quick scan proved it to be nothing but niceties and business jargon, It could be transcribed later. He was about to set it down when something at the bottom of the page caught his eye.

Initial trials in India are progressing well. Subjects are giving positive responses, but the product might stand for some tinkering.  
Responses may be _too_ positive. It isn’t ready for shipment to Britain yet. 

He dropped the letter onto the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have any contacts in India quite just yet, he would have to wait until the product got into Europe to get anywhere near it. Frye must have noticed his annoyance, having placed his boots on the desk.

“What’s the matter?” He asked, resting his hands behind his head. Ned pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed.

“The letter is useless,” He replied, gesturing exasperatedly at it. “We have to play the rest of this operation by ear.”

Frye leaned forward at that, placing his boots back on the floor. He snatched the letter off the desk and gave it a skim. “You might not be looking at it right.” He blinked a couple of times and his eyes turned a stormy gray colour.

_Wait._

Ned jumped at the sudden change. Frye’s normally Hazel eyes were flickering gray. Not a blue gray, like some people had. Cloudy gray, like the color of the sky on a rainy day. It was… unsettling, to say the least. His eyes stopped changing color and he sneezed, violently. Ned jumped again, this time just from the sound. _What the hell?_ Frye mumbled something under his breath and his eyes started changing colour again. Another violent sneeze made him give up and place the letter back down.

_Probably best not to mention it._

“Well?” Ned asked instead. Frye was scowling at the parchment now, as if it had personally offended him. He looked up at Ned and shrugged.

“They could be making some sort of alcohol. Or sweet,” He shrugged again, then moved to reach into his coat that he’d hung off his chair. Ned sat himself down, confused. Then, a greasy brown paper bag landed on his desk. “I bought you some fried potatoes.”

“I’m supposed to be paying you, Frye.” Ned grabbed the bag and peered inside. Indeed it was a bag of small, fried potatoes cut in half. Still, the gesture made him smile. “I think I owe you a hundred and seventy-five this time, don’t I?”

Frye waved him off dismissively, muttering something about them being ‘just potatoes.’ Ned ignored him, pulling two bundles of pound-notes from the money safe underneath his desk. He slid them across the wood to Frye. “For your trouble.” Frye took the bundles, but looked none-too-pleased about it. That was odd. He always had some sort of witty reply as he received his pay. Ned kind of missed the flirting. Kind of. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

“You shouldn’t steal from these two. Anyone else, but not these two.”

“Why not? They sound like they have a good product, even if I have to wait longer for it.”

“They’re a bad lot. You could get hurt.”

Ned chuckled at that one. He wasn’t a shrinking violet. “Frye, I’ve held off the blighters multiple times. I think I can handle two pompous businessmen.”

“They’re worse than the blighters.”

“How?”

Before Frye could explain further, there was some sort of commotion outside. The door was thrust open and a Rook, breathing hard and red in the face, stumbled into the room. She stopped and gaped, as if surprised to see both Ned and Frye in the room. Julie-Anne walked in after her, just as bewildered.

“Miss, you can’t just come in here without an appointment-” Julie scolded, but was ignored.

“There’s trouble at the Mint, Sir…s” the Rook blurted over Ned’s secretary. Frye, who had apparently found the intrusion funny, bolted up from the chair, sending it toppling toward the ground.

“Blighters?” The two men asked in unison. The Rook woman nodded silently. Ned swore under his breath and stepped around Julie to grab his jacket and hat, and put them on.

“Where are you going?” She asked, stepping out of the door. Ned patted himself down, making sure he had everything.

“I have to run to check a shipment getting delivered today. I’m not losing that furniture to plucky assholes trying to take my trade routes.”

Frye, who had picked up the chair and had put his coat and that armoured glove back on, shook his head. “You won’t run there in time.”

“And how do you suggest I get there?” In response, Frye silently walked to the window and pushed it open. He gestured out of it and toward the buildings across the street. Ned took one look at the open door. Frye was right, there was no way he was fast enough to run there in time. He heaved a defeated sigh and went to stand behind the Brit. “Julie, I’ll be back in half an hour. If i’m not…” He wasn’t actually sure what to say. “I’ll be back,” He turned to Frye, holding up a finger in what he hoped was a stern gesture. “ _Don’t_ drop me,”

Frye smirked at him, eyes shining mischievously. “Wouldn’t dream of it,”

Ned felt an arm around his waist before he was lifted off his feet. It was all he could do to wrap his arms around Frye’s neck. The next moment they were out the window and flying through the air, Frye’s cackling loud in his ears.

\---

Frye landed them on a flat rooftop and let go of Ned, who immediately fell to the tiles. Breathless, he felt Frye grab his arm and haul him to his feet.

“Shit, Frye,” He panted, fixing his rather askew glasses. “Is that how you get around?”

Frye apparently wasn’t listening, scanning the ground with his gray eyes. He pulled a face. “Not good,” He muttered, turning to face Ned. “Did you bring your gun?”

Ned reached for the holster he normally kept hanging off one of his braces. The holster that wasn’t there. _Fuck_. The holster he left in his desk drawer. He shook his head, internally cursing himself. He should have checked if he had it. Frye grabbed his hand and pressed something heavy, but easy to hold, into it,. Ned looked at his hand and nearly fainted for the second time that day. He’d just been handed a large, curved knife. It was gorgeous, sure, but excessive in its size and carved from jade. There was no way it could be practical.

“Get to the cart, secure your cargo then give me back the knife,” Frye told him, inching toward the sloped edge of the roof. “Unless you can hold your own in a brawl,” Ned shook his head and Frye took one look back out at the fighting. “I’ll be back for you,” And with that, he was leaping off the roof.

“Frye!” Ned called, running down to the gutter after him. Looking down into the chaos below, he couldn’t see a vaguely Jacob-Frye-shaped corpse. He did spot him, however, pulling himself up from some poor asshole he probably landed on and leaping into the fray. _The HELL?_

There was a gunshot to his left, startling him into focus. He pivoted and started running along the gutter toward the sound of nervous horses. He stopped at the corner and peered over the side.

_Bingo_

The cart, along with two very skittish horses, was parked just below this building. How convenient. He took a moment to make sure no one could see him—He didn’t want to have to _use_ the knife. With no one in sight, he dropped to a crouch to start climbing down the side of the wall. Which he couldn’t do holding a knife. He shoved it into his belt and swung over the gutter, slowly making his way down the wall.

_Pro tip: Never leave your gun in your desk drawer._

With his feet on the ground, Ned took a final look around. Apparently no one had thought to steal the cart in the middle of the fight. The thieves were probably dead. He shook that thought off and hopped into the driver seat, cracking on the reins. The horses whinnied rather loudly and took off at break-neck speed, flinging Ned to one side with the motion.

“Woah! Slow down!” He cried, yanking on the reins to try and regain some control. The horses didn’t care, however, and barrelled ahead. Toward the brawl. _Shit_. He tried to steer the animals to one side. No such luck, the horses kept toward the masses. He threw a glance to the ground flying beneath the cartwheels. He was moving way too fast to jump. Option-less, he took a deep breath in. 

“Get out of the way!” He shouted, curling in on himself as some sort of brace. There was a second of panicked shouting and then the disgusting crunches of breaking bones. The horses finally slowed to a stop, letting Ned sit up and glare at the traitorous creatures. “Oh so _now_ you stop!”

“Wynert, has anyone told you that your timing is impeccable?” Frye’s voice asked. Ned turned to see him leaning heavily on the cart’s side.

“You’re welcome.” He fixed his glasses and looked behind the Brit. He was only a little surprised by the lack of red jackets in the vicinity. Other than the ones on the ground. In the blood. _Gross._ “What happened to the blighters?”

“Ran off. I haven’t known many people who stick around when there are horses on a rampage,” He extended a hand. “Here, I’ll take you back to your office,”

Ned took his hand and slid out of the cart, steadying himself with Jacob’s grip. “Never took you for a gentleman,”

“I’m a Knight, I can be gentlemanly,” Frye pressed a hand to his chest, as if pretending to be offended. Ned laughed, throwing his head back with it.

“If the British Empire is better or worse for it, I have no idea,” He pulled the knife out of his belt and handed it to Frye. The man took it back and Ned stepped past him and toward the Rooks standing behind them. “I’m assuming you know what to do with the valuables in this shipment?”

There was a murmured chorus of acknowledgement. Ned nodded, satisfied. “I’ll leave you to it then. Come on, Frye,” He pivoted on his heel and started walking toward the street.

“Everything went well with the shipment then?” Frye asked as he caught up. Ned sincerely hoped so. He shrugged.

“All I can do is hope nothing got damaged.” He threw Frye a glance. The man was a little bloody and scratched up, but seemed otherwise unfazed. He still walked with a swagger and waved when a Rook called to him. “Is this how you live your life? Jumping off rooftops and zipping through streets?”

Frye hummed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Not every day. It’s gotten much quieter. Besides, I have the fight clubs if I get bored,”

Ned couldn’t help but grimace. He avoided these clubs as much as he could. They were a bit too far out of his comfort zone. The two of them rounded a corner and headed down the street. “That sounds awfully masochistic,”

“Trust me Wynert, I’m not the one getting hit,” Ned looked at him, unconvinced. Frye was even smirking. _Smug bastard._

“Isn’t that the point of a fight club? Getting hit? Am I missing something?” He could see Frye chuckle and laugh with him. They walked in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other's company. The Frye twins were an odd pair, but always pleasant to be around.

“I think you’d like it,” Frye finally said as they reached the street corner. Ned’s warehouse was just beyond the fence. He had to meet with miss O’Dea soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to want to leave. Frye leaned against the fence and folded his arms. “Watching the fight clubs, I mean,”

“I’ve almost fainted enough times in the past fifteen minutes. I don’t think the ring would do me any better,”

The chiming of clock bells cut off whatever Frye was going to say next. Ned sighed. Time, it seemed, would be his enemy. “Well, I have other business to attend to. The gears of London never stop turning and all that. I’ll run your payment by your train, plus a ha’penny for the potatoes,”

“You don’t need to pay me for the potatoes, Wynert. We’re friends,” Ned’s entire brain function stopped at the word ‘friends’. Frye considered them friends? Something in Ned warmed tremendously. He smiled at Frye and tipped his hat.

“I’ll be seeing you Frye,” He turned and rounded the gate to his warehouse, barely containing his stupid smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank, once again, Lauren for Beta'ing this chapter. I'd also like to thank AlwaysAmused and DaughterOfDungeonBat for actually reading this story. Let me tell you, ladies, I honestly wasn't expecting y'all to see it or like it so much. And also Erika, who told me I don't have to go into Googling rabbit holes for historical accuracy (Which I'm going to ignore because I had enough trouble with historical immersion in the game, I'm going to do my utmost to be accurate to the history).
> 
> Also fun fact: filing cabinets didn't exist until 1875. So one would 100% fit in a Jack the Ripper fic, if I ever get around to writing that.
> 
> Filler chapter inbound next week! I swear it'll be relevant to the story later.


	3. Nights Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where books and Assassins go missing, Rooks are promised and the Thief insists on his relationship.

Quiet nights like this had become commonplace since Starrick died. Jacob would board the train and spend the afternoon with Evie, trading stories or sorting business for the Rooks. More often she’d hop off the train to go to Greenie’s shop and spend the night with him. Jacob didn’t mind at all. She’d turn up the next morning and the day would start again.

Tonight, Jacob jumped onto his carriage and threw his hat on the lounge. The car was, as usual, empty. The Rooks tried their best to stay out of it and Evie liked to spend her time in her own car. He glanced around, making sure everything was still in order. As in order as it could be in a moving train. The stack of newspapers was still sitting on the safe, but the book he’d been reading wasn’t. He sighed and walked over to the connection platform between his and Evie’s cars. He probably left it there last night.

Jumping across the connectors, he caught the tail end of a conversation.

“And you don’t think it’s simply their missions taking longer than anticipated?” He heard Evie ask. It was definitely Evie. Her I’m-checking-every-possibility-so-we-don’t-screw-this-up voice is unmistakable.

“No, we have a specific system for reporting extensions in missions. This _has_ to be foul play,” A man—Greenie, judging by the accent—replied. Evie was silent. Jacob took the opportunity to knock on the nearest wooden surface.

“Come in,” Evie called and Jacob walked past her closet to lean against the bookshelf beside her desk. Both she and Henry were seated in front of it, apparently pouring over a letter written in a script Jacob didn’t recognise.

“What’s the matter? Has someone gone missing?” he asked. Henry cast a look at the letter again. “What is it?”

“Assassins from the Indian Brotherhood have disappeared. I think we should look into it,” Greenie explained, leaving Evie to tap her fingers on the table. Evie had always been a fiddler. She could sit still for days but had to constantly move her fingers. It drove Father _mad._

“We should,” He gestured to Greenie. “Greenie might not be able to go to the Brotherhood, but we have associates who can look for us.” Evie took a deep breath in. He knew the face. He hoped it meant she would give, just a little. She rested one hand on top of Greenie’s.

"Jaya, I know these people are valuable to you, but we don’t have enough to go on a six week journey. The Council won’t accept just a hunch. They won’t let us go, or send another Assassin in our place.” Greenie furrowed his brow, but looked back at her, unrelenting.

“Send some Rooks, then,” He suggested. Jacob heard and felt the frustration. “If not ourselves. The Rooks far outnumber us and would be able to provide at least some assistance to the Brotherhood,” Jacob nodded with him.

“The Rooks—” Evie began, unconvinced. Jacob held out a hand to interrupt her.

“Will make up a team if Greenie thinks it would help. He’s right. The Rooks don’t answer to Crawley. They can get to India much faster than we can.”

Evie was silent again, face pensive. Greenie folded up the envelope and tucked it into his pocket.

“We’ll send some Rooks.” Evie relented, looking at Greenie. He looked back at her, exhaling long and hard.

“It will do.” Evie closed her eyes, looking a little relieved. Jacob himself was relieved. He liked Greenie, and seeing the man this upset… it upset him a little, too. He wished he could help more, so he laid a hand gently on Greenie’s shoulder.

“They’ll turn up, Greenie.” He let go of his shoulder, then looked up to let the world wash to grey. A quick glance around showed that yes, he had left his book in Evie’s car. Colour returned to the world and he skirted around the two to the bed. Which reminded him. “Has either of your Eagle vision cut off? Just out of the blue?” He swiped the book off the mattress and tucked it into his coat.

“Not that I recall.” Greenie replied, sounding rather bewildered. Evie shook her head.

“I haven’t experienced it.” Jacob pressed his lips together. Maybe that cutoff in Wynert’s office was a coincidence. Maybe it was because of that sneeze. Maybe it was the same reason they can’t run while the world looks like that. It just doesn’t work. “Why?”

“I thought it was something today, but it’s probably because I had to sneeze.” He watched as Greenie got out of his chair and turned to him and Evie.

“I should get back to the Curio shop.” He told them, turning his gaze to Evie. “Are you joining me?”

“Of course.” Evie replied, standing up and swiping something off the desk. Jacob didn’t see what it was. She took Greenie’s outstretched hand and turned to Jacob. “Is that all?” Jacob nodded, following them to the door. The wheels of the train screeched, slowing to a halt.

“I’ll get word out among the Rooks. Give them three days.”

“Hindi speaking Rooks, Jacob.” Greenie suggested. “Have a good night.” He let go of Evie’s hand and jumped off the train.

“Goodnight Evie.” Jacob said to her. She smiled back at him, just a little. She jumped off the train and headed after her sweetheart.

The train started up again with the screeching of wheels. Jacob made his way back to his car and plopped onto the lounge. He might actually get somewhere with his book today. The team for India would have to wait until tomorrow morning, whenever his borough leaders got on the train. He kicked off his boots and settled in to recline on the lounge.

“Mr. Frye?” someone asked. Jacob looked quizzically up from his book. Standing in the doorway of his car was a Rook—Damien, his Whitechapel Borough leader—looking slightly skittish. Jacob rested his book open on his chest.

“Hullo Damien,” He said cheerfully, giving the leader a warm smile. Damien gave him a tiny wave, but his expression didn’t brighten. “Something bothering you?”

“I heard there was trouble at the mint. It's not my borough but—” He started, but Jacob held up a hand to stop him.

“The Mint is fine. I helped out in the fight.”

“How many Rooks…?”

“Only five.” Damien cast his eyes down. He looked like he was already in mourning. The man was big and scary but his heart betrayed a softer side. Jacob couldn’t help but feel bad for him, too. “Was there someone there you knew?” Damien swallowed and nodded.

“The missus was there. She was a watcher today.” Jacob brightened. Knowing he could set one person’s mind at ease always brightened him.

“Damien, I’m sure she’s waiting for you at home. She was the one who went to get help. She’s fine.” This time, Damien brightened too.

“You’re selling me a dog.”

“I’m not, promise.” 

Damien broke out smiling and backed out the door. “Thank you Mr. Frye. Oh I’m so glad to hear it.” He looked over his shoulder at the tracks. “This is my stop I think.”

“Before you go, can you ask around for anyone who speaks Hindi? I’ll tell Cathy and Connor tomorrow, but if you could get it started?”

“Of course, Mr. Frye...” Whatever he said next was drowned out by the wheels shrieking to slow down. “Goodnight Mr. Frye!” He called, jumping away and out of sight. Jacob sighed and got back to his book.

\---

Nights like this were the ones Ned enjoyed the most. Julie’s Fiance was usually late in picking her up. The two of them got a lot of time to chat. So that’s why Ned was perched on her desk, hoping to God he didn’t get ink on his trousers. Julie herself was sitting in the armchair by the wall, her skirt falling prettily from the arms.

“So the furniture you had smuggled in is still intact?” She asked, absently fiddling with the pages of a book. Ned pushed his glasses up his nose again. He really had to find ones that wouldn’t keep sliding down his face.

“So I’ve been told. I should be able to sell them by next week. Unless you and Trevor want them?” He replied. He’d been trying to give them practical gifts for months. Both of them had refused, multiple times.

“Unless there’s a box of glittering jewellery in there, you can sell it all.” Julie made some dramatic hand gesture that made him laugh.

“You’d have to remake all that jewellery. The previous owner would spot it pretty quick.”

“Oh I know. My jeweller knows what to do.” She frowned, feeling around the side of her head. Her hair was always immaculate, in that dangly braid style he’d seen ever since he was a kid. He’d even worn it himself when he was a teenager. He’d asked her why she still wore it if it went out of fashion ages ago. She told him it was still practical and she liked it. Ned couldn’t argue with that.

He watched her push what must have been a stray hairpin back into her hairstyle. “Need help?” He asked. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and looked up at her sweetly.

“No, thank you.” She was always this put together. Like an upstanding citizen, or a book character. He liked how she was surprising like that. “Was there much in that letter you had stolen this morning?”

“Not much more than niceties. Really, you brits _love_ being polite. It’s serial.” Julie laughed at that. “It was just that and something about their product testing in India.”

“India? You don’t have any associates in India.”

“So we wait for them to break their product through Europe.”

“You have to find their trade route first.”

Ned gave her his signature ‘do-you-know-who-you’re-talking-to?’ look.

“I know how to steal things, Julie.” She just shrugged at him, but she couldn’t keep the grin off her face.

“You _and_ Mr. Frye. You should give him the furniture since you’re as close as you are.” Ned opened his mouth to argue but closed it again. What on earth was she talking about? He and Frye hadn’t seemed any closer than before. Except that Frye had called them _friends_ , which still made Ned warm when he thought about it. Julie hadn’t seen that interaction, however. The confusion must have shown on his face because Julie looked even more exasperated than he had ever seen her.

“What?”

“Flying out the window this afternoon. You let him closer than I’ve seen you let anyone. Ever.” It was true that he could never really handle anything more than a handshake. He enjoyed his personal space. Julie may have been right, but Ned didn’t have to like it. And Frye picking him up didn’t have to mean anything. It was just a necessity. 

“He might have had his arm around my waist, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it. It was faster than running, so I’d call it a necessity.” Julie gave him a haughty look, apparently unconvinced. She was stopped from dealing whatever remark by a knock on the door.

“That would be Trevor.” She announced, getting up out of her chair. Her fiance stepped in, giving Ned a little wave, to which he waved back. Julie walked over to him and took his arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Wynert.”

“You kids have fun.” Ned told them as they left. He hopped off her desk and started to lock up for the night.

Hearing Julie’s giggling made him feel… Jealous maybe. He didn’t want to think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this chapter will be relevant later in the story, don't sue me for writing filler please.
> 
> Also Julie Anne is actually a proper character now. I love her.
> 
> I'd like to thank my friends Jemma, Wayne and Rachel for Betaing this chapter, And Lauren and Bella for liking this story so much. And you guys! For reading it! It really means a lot to me!
> 
> Next up: Disaster Gay Ned Wynert


	4. All’s Fair With Robert Topping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Thief attends a fight club and considers how unfair these circumstances are. The Assassin provides some insights into illegal bare-knuckle boxing and knocks some heads together.

Fight clubs weren’t a rarity around London. Ned had counted eight new ones in the past year alone. London, it turns out, loves beating the shit out of itself.

Julie had convinced him to go and watch the fighting today. She’d raved about the club champion coming to town and insisted he’d like it. He tried telling her he had better things to do (he did), but she told him she’d handle it (she wouldn’t).

So there he was. In Lambeth’s fight club.

Climbing the water tank had been terrifying enough. Ned had made a point of staying away from the edge of the top. He avoided being trampled to death four days ago in the Mint. He wasn’t about to fall and die now.

The crowd was already roaring at whatever was going on in the ring. Because apparently fight clubs operate at eight in the morning. Ned was just a touch too short to see what had happened and the crowd was fairly dense, so he wove between a few people and made his way into the crowd. It was an uncomfortable place to be. People were excited and apparently had no peripheral vision. Ned felt someone accidentally elbow him in the ribs and had to duck under another person’s arm. He squeezed past another pair of people and was surprised when his fingers grabbed onto a solid metal fence.

The crowd’s excitement was understandable. Straightening up and brushing his jacket off, he watched one poor man get knocked to the ground. His opponent stood over him, arms held up in victory. Ned winced at the fighter curled up on the floor. Broken ribs? It certainly looked like it. A third man, dressed in obnoxiously bright clothes—likely the owner—took the victor’s hand. The crowd was practically shrieking now. Ned clapped, but mostly to be polite. The victor leant down to help his victim up off the ground and out of the ring.The Cheering from the crowd dulled into excitable chatter.

Ned leaned on the barricade, waiting for the next bout to start. This whole thing looked… painful, to say the least. But he understood why people enjoyed it. In an odd way, It was satisfying to watch someone deal a final blow. He rubbed at his own knuckles as if they were sore themselves. _It’s not like the winner gets out unscathed_ he thought.

He wasn’t given much time to think as someone barrelled into him. He cried out and stumbled to one side, but caught himself on the fence. Fixing his now askew glasses, he glared at whoever wasn’t paying much attention and met the sheepish look of the culprit.

“Frye,” he grunted. Frye grabbed his arm as if to steady him “Watch where you’re going. You nearly knocked me over,”

Frye released Ned’s arm once he was steady. “I’m sorry Wynert, I didn’t see you,” He looked him over, before sheepishness turned to joviality. “I didn’t know you frequented such establishments,”

“Julie insisted,” He confessed, chuckling just a little. “Well, more like she took over my business for the morning, said I have to see the champion fight, and refused to let me into my office,” that seemed to catch Frye off guard, giving him a mischievous glint to his eye. And, apparently, the idea that he could drape his arm over Ned’s shoulders. Ned bristled, despite how warm the touch made him feel.

He looked up at Frye’s cocky grin and found himself smiling back. Only a little smile. He almost didn’t want to leave.

 _I_ don’t _like him._

He ducked out of Frye’s hold and shoved his hands in his pockets. Why was he so comfortable with Frye? Why didn’t he mind Frye touching him? He hated people touching him, liked his personal space too much.

He felt a gentle nudge and looked back up at Frye. “Do you need someone to explain the rules to you, Wynert?” He asked, apparently unaffected by the abrupt attitude change. Ned looked between the ring and Frye. He really had no idea what was going on with these fights. He nodded, smiling at Frye again.

“I won’t say no,” he saw fighters were already jumping over the fence, stretching and ready for the next fight. Ned counted six of them. “This doesn’t look good for anyone involved,”

“For five of them, at least,” Frye gestured to a man testing the wrappings around his hand. He was separated from the other five. “He has a place in the top 15 of the club. They,” he pointed at the group on the other side of the ring. “are challenging him for it.”

“But it’s five against one. There’s no way he’ll win.”

“Each round, challengers come at the ranked fighter in groups of two or three. Any more than that and the whole group is disqualified,” a quiet had fallen over the buzzing crowd, more excited than vultures circling their next meal. Ned could _feel_ the anticipation. Feel it move through his body, making him unable to stand still. The obnoxiously colourful man stepped into the ring. “Here comes Topping to start the match,”

Some words were exchanged between the lone man and ‘Topping’. The man was clapped on the shoulder and the fight was announced. Topping darted from the ring as two men broke from the five to circle the lone fighter. One darted forward, dealing a punch square to the chest. He was countered with a gut punch. The crowd roared at the blows being dealt.

“What if they knock him out?” Frye, looking slightly disappointed in the fight, shrugged as if it were obvious.

“Brawl breaks out. Last man standing gets the title.”

The man with the rank was shoving one challenger into another, but got a harsh punch to the nose for it. Ned winced. Frye perked up. The man stumbled back, clutching his nose. Blood was already dripping down his chin.

“They broke his nose!” Ned exclaimed. Frye, grinning, clapped as if this was the most exciting thing of his morning.

“It’s fair. As long as he can go to work tomorrow, it’s fair,”

The rest of the fight between the three of them went the same way. Most of it was ducking under arms and weaving into close quarters.

Until one of them kicked the ranked man in the crotch.

More like jammed his shin between his thighs. He grabbed at his groin and fell to his knees before curling up on the floor. Ned grabbed at his own nethers, hissing as if it was causing him physical pain. The crowd went up in arms. The other challengers ran for the culprit and fists flew. They flew so fast it was hard to tell who was winning.

A couple of large men came to break up the brawl. One or two of the boxers had to be physically hauled away from the fight. The crowd, having none of it, threw curses and boos at those in the ring. _Is that a tomato_? Frye looked disappointed in the fighters too. He drummed his fingers on the barricade, contemplative.

“No one won that round,” Ned sighed.

“They’re all disqualified for that shit show,” he turned his gaze back to Ned, jovial once more. “Thoughts?”

“Ouch sums it up,” Ned stifled a laugh at the spontaneity of the question. Frye was like a puppy, jumping from one thought to another. A very large puppy. “You enjoy this?”

Frye laughed, but not at him.“Of course! It gives life spice!” he looked over his shoulder and Ned caught Topping giving him a wave. Frye waved back. He took off his hat, collapsed it and stowed it in his coat. He worked that big glove off his hand and shrugged the coat off as well. Ned, shocked, watched him start to unbutton his waistcoat. In front of everyone. Most notably, him. He hoped Frye didn’t catch his wide eyed, open mouthed expression before he fixed himself.

“What are you doing?” He cringed at the waver in his voice. He wasn’t a horny teenage boy anymore, damnit. Frye jerked his head at the ring, despite the lack of fighter for him to challenge.

“I’m gonna have a crack at it. Can’t be that hard,” he sounded way too cocky. Ned was sure he _could_ win, but he didn’t have to be such an ass about it. His waistcoat was off now, along with some sort of mechanism that had been strapped around his right wrist. It was when he started to pull his shirt off over his head that Ned remembered to cover his eyes.

“Are you really undressing in front of all these people?” _And me_?

“House rules, you can’t fight with too many clothes on. Britches and a shirt are fine, but nothing more than that,”

What kind of a rule was that? He kept his eyes shut, but couldn’t help the heat creeping up his cheeks. This sort of thing was why he avoided the places. Shirtless men and him made for an awkward mix.

He felt a warm grip on his hand, someone pulling his arm closer to them. Frye’s hand, probably. Something was draped over his arm. “Hold onto these, will you?”

Ned opened his eyes in confusion. He saw Frye’s coat over his forearm, and could see the different pieces of his outfit underneath it. For three layers of cloth and a top hat, it was excessively heavy. “What do you keep in these? A bunch of bricks?”

The sight of Frye cut him off. More accurately, Frye without his shirt on. The man had so much more muscle than he was expecting. It wasn’t obscene muscle, either. It was smooth and taut, planes of stomach and chest that Ned could run his hands over—. There was a tattoo of a swooping bird on the left side of his chest, extending to his shoulder. It would probably fly as he moved his arm.

Ned was sure that by now his cheeks were so hot they could heat all of Buckingham Palace for a week.

He caught Frye’s grin just before he jumped over the fence. _Shit_. Frye would never let him hear the end of it. _It’s not like it isn’t justified. He’s very pretty._

Ned shook the thought off. He couldn’t mix business with attraction. That was a rule.

Frye sauntered across the ring—even his back was muscular, that’s so unfair—to talk with Mr. Topping. Mr. Obnoxious suit nodded as words were whispered in ears and they shook hands. _Oh something is going on there_. Topping let himself into the ring and led Frye into the centre as if he were an expensive show pony. Ned hugged Frye’s clothes closer to his body.

“Hear ye, hear ye,” Topping began, voice carrying over the crowd’s chatter and silencing them. “Our champion is willing to take on any and all registered challengers. Step forward, oh brave souls, and let the battle-” He raised Frye’s arm to swing it down again. “Commence!” He cried, before releasing Frye and hightailing it out of the ring.

Frye stood serenely in the centre of the ring. It was the most still Ned had ever seen him. The crowd was deathly silent, as if mesmerised. And it was mesmerising. He knew he had the crowd’s full attention, judging by the way he made a show of cracking his joints and rolling his shoulders.

No one had to know that Ned’s breath caught and his heart stuttered.

From the corner of his eye, he saw two men jumping into the ring. They stalked toward the champion, guard down. Frye turned to face them. There was a standoff.

It was like the arena was holding its breath. Ned held his with it.

One challenger lunged for Frye, jabbing at his face. He leaned to one side, punched the unfortunate man in the cheek to send him stumbling. That got the second challenger’s guard up. Fists shielding the challenger’s face, he and Frye circled each other. It didn’t help him. Frye reached out and grabbed him by the throat. He pulled him close and knee met stomach. Ned cheered, caught up in the excitement of the moment.

Fighter one was back on his feet and throwing himself into a punch. Frye caught it—physically caught it. He pushed the arm down, giving way for a solid punch to the gut. The man stumbled back and curled in on himself. He wasn’t given a lot of time to recover. He was grabbed by the back of the head and Frye slammed his knee into his chest. The challenger dropped and Frye whirled on the second fighter. The man gave a half heartedly swing—probably a feint—at Frye’s face. He had his legs kicked out from under him, sending him sprawling.

Astonished, Ned whooped as loud as he could. Frye had impressive skills, and he put on a good show. He didn’t even look like he was sweating. _What kind of stamina does he have?_

There was another pair already climbing into the ring. Ned was looking forward to this. “Give ‘em hell, Frye!” He called, swept up by his excitement. He wasn’t sure if Frye heard him, but he flung himself into the next fight with an alarming amount of gusto.

Watching Frye fight was like watching a dance. He was incredibly fluid, darting from fighter to fighter without missing a beat. It was more graceful than Ned expected the tall man to be, if you ignored the fact he was throwing punches. But he found himself focused solely on Frye, as if no one else in the ring mattered. It wasn’t just because he was unfairly attractive. He had this quality to him that consistently drew Ned’s attention. _This is dangerous_.

He must have lost himself in thought, because Frye landed next to him, sweaty and breathing hard. Ned averted his eyes and held out Frye’s clothes.

He cleared his throat to get rid of the lump that had formed there. “So uh, that was impressive,” he blurted, already mentally kicking himself. “Are you sure you don’t do body guarding?” _Smooth_. Frye seemed to find it funny, judging by his soft laughter.

He leaned down to take his clothes. “If the price is right,” he crooned in Ned’s ear, making him shiver. Then Frye was standing straight and pulling his shirt on over his head. “Sorry to leave you high and dry, but I promised Mr. Green I’d help him gather some Rooks,” he clapped Ned on the shoulder as if it would sweeten the apology. Ned shrugged, trying to ignore the big part of him that was disappointed. What that part of him wanted to do, he had no idea.

“It’s fine, Frye. I have to make sure Julie hasn’t stolen any of my whiskey,” he said, giving Frye a wry smile. Frye grinned back at him, which inexplicably warmed something in Ned.

“We should do this again,” Frye paused, gesturing around them. “Well, not _this_ , exactly, but… accompany each other.”

Ned huffed a laugh. ‘Accompany’ sounded so weird coming from Frye. “If my schedule allows it,” _Even if it doesn’t._ He sighed and fiddled with his fob chain. He should really be getting back. Touching two fingers to his hat, he backed off into the crowd. “Looking forward to it. See you around Frye,”

He pushed past a small group of people and braced himself for the inevitable-yet-terrifying descent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this chapter in like May, it was hard to write. The pacing was so slow and bleh but it improved! This one got edited a LOT.
> 
> Poor Ned is a gay disaster. I love him.
> 
> Thanks to Marzi, Erika and Lauren for Betaing this chapter.
> 
> Next up: Hindi. Hopefully I can get translations working through Ao3. If they don't work they'll just go in the notes.


	5. The Acre Trio and Sundry Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Rooks are gathered, plots are hatched and the Assassin is grumpily awoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Jessie here to apologise real quick for how grossly inaccurate the Hindi in this chapter my be. I had my friend translate it for me but she confessed her Hindi isn't great. Also I know english lettering probably takes away from the complexity of such a beautiful language but now you have some hope of trying to pronounce it???? I guess??
> 
> Anyway enjoy the chapter!

Rooks, apparently, weren’t all that hard to persuade. Jacob had no idea what his borough leaders told them, but there were a _lot_ of Rooks in the pub.

“Is that all of them?” Greenie asked from behind him. He sounded impressed. Jacob shrugged.

“Probably not,” he replied, pressing forward into the bar. There were quite a few of Rooks in the room, at _least_ 50 crowding the pub. He almost felt like he was missing something. Taking a quick look at all the faces, he couldn’t see Damien, Cathy or Connor. But it wasn’t their borough, so that was understandable.

“Can you tell them apart? All I can see is green,” Jacob looked back at Henry, who’s eyes had turned the cloudy grey of Eagle Vision. A bit of a pointless endeavour, there were too many Rooks in the one place and they didn’t know who was who. The pub did, however, have tables.

“I know how we can,” he darted over to the nearest table, neatly hopping from the chair to the tabletop. This caught the attention of the Rooks closest to him. One or two threw cheerful greetings. He waved back and took a second to scan for familiar faces to no avail. He took a deep breath and let out a piercing whistle. Everyone—though many seemed very confused—turned to look at him. “Right. Rooks, I’m sure you’ve heard on the grapevine that whichever of you can speak Hindi might be able to help me. If you’re here for that reason,” he gestured to Greenie with an open hand “Mr. Green here would like to speak with you. If not,” he spared them all a wide, joking smile. “Bugger off,”

There was laughter all around and a couple of toasts from the crowd. He caught a few Rooks trickling past their peers and waved the rest of them off. He jumped to the floor and turned to Henry.

“It’s not subtle, but it’ll do,” Greenie admitted, taking a seat at the table and gesturing for Jacob to do the same. The two of them watched a gaggle of Rooks wandering toward the table. One man and two women. All of which he knew. He grinned broadly and stood up again to greet them.

“Well if it isn’t the Acre Trio! Pol, Jo, Tommy, good to see you,” he called. Tommy reached out a hand to shake, which Jacob did. Vigorously.

“Good to see ya Mr. Frye, Mr. Green,” Jo said, taking a seat. Greenie offered them a small smile, though he looked a little bewildered. The other two filled the rest of the seats.

Tommy took a swig of his pint. “What do you want in India, Mr. Frye? Something exciting I ‘ope,” Jacob opened his mouth to answer, but Greenie beat him to it. 

“ Mujhe bhaarat mein kuchh dost mile hain jo kuchh madad ka istemaal kar sakate hain. Aap unakee madad karane ke lie yaatra karana bura nahin maanenge ?” Jacob blinked away the mild shock at the sudden change in language. The others didn’t seem phased, though Jo raised her eyebrows at him.

“Mubaarak ho. Jab tak hamen khoonee tren nahin pakadanee hai,” Pol replied, earning an elbow in the ribs from Tommy. She jumped and glared at him. He glared back.

“Kab se? Main isake lie sahamat nahin tha,” he hissed, sounding rather chuffed at the idea.

“Yah ek achchhee yaatra ho sakatee hai. Aur ham isake lie achchhee tarah se bhugataan karenge.”

“Yah ek lambee lambee yaatra hai. Ekad ke baare mein kya?” 

“Ekar kuchh samay tak hamaare bina jeevit rahega,” 

“Aapako yatra sveekaar karane kee zaroorat nahin hai, Tomee. Main ise aapake paas nahin rakhoonga” Henry interjected. Jacob looked between the three of them, hoping someone would explain to him.

Jo leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear. “Tommy doesn’t want to leave the Acre unattended. Pol thinks the trip’s a great idea and wants to go. I’m staying out of it.”

Jacob suddenly understood how Greenie had felt all of last summer.

Tommy seemed a little bit deflated, if anything and the conversation continued. Someone would probably nudge him if he was needed.  He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the letter he stole last week.

_“May the Father of Understanding guide us.”_

That line always, _always_ meant templars. Along with the little red cross printed at the bottom of the page. Jacob was willing to bet they were up to no good. Maybe they were trying to restart Soothing Syrup. They love being inconvenient. Him and Evie would have to pay good old Vickie a visit, just to make sure the Shroud was still there. To make sure the crypt was still safe and secret.

Even if the Templars didn’t want the shroud, their attempt to resurface would endanger London. Again. It might put Wynert in Danger for being so close to their operation. The man would be too eager for something big to steal that he wouldn’t stop his pursuit. Jacob didn’t want to sound crazy by telling him about the Templars. He’d have to expose the Assassins too.

_Wynert, we should call this theft quits because we’d be stealing from this worldwide cult hellbent on controlling Humanity. They’ve probably got some artefacts from an ancient civilisation to do so. And Evie and I have magic powers that we fight this cult with._

That would go down about as well as tar on stairs. And maybe end with an admission to Bedlam.

He’d just had to keep Wynert safe with a bit more subtlety.

Even if he’d vehemently refuse any help, saying he can take care of himself. But better safe than sorry, right?

_He did ask if you did body guarding._

Jacob smiled at the memory. Wynert had gone beet red watching him undress. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t stare at him in the ring. Jacob had caught him staring. Didn’t mind that he was, he could stare all he liked. He looked so…pretty when he blushed. Not that he wasn’t always beautiful. Every time Jacob saw him, he seemed to look so much better than their last meeting. Jacob would be lying if he said he didn’t crack extra jokes just to see Wynert’s reaction. In his own opinion, Wynert being _that_ attractive was unfair. Last week had caught him off guard, seeing Wynert so casually dressed, with the _scandal_ that was rolled up sleeves. Jacob couldn’t help his staring. He hoped Wynert wouldn’t hold it against him.

He realised he was getting carried away when he heard a polite cough. The other four at the table were looking at him expectantly. He looked right back at them, hoping he was looking more confused than sheepish. He certainly felt it, getting carried away like a teenage boy. “What have I missed?”

“You were going to tell us how you plan to get us into India,” Tommy said, slurping on his drink. Jacob furrowed his brow. Greenie had mentioned that discretion was best, though he couldn’t see why they couldn’t use normal modes of travel.

“My understanding was you were going to take a boat then a train, like normal travellers. Though if you _need_ to be more discreet about it, I can ask one of my associates,” Jacob shrugged and tilted his head thoughtfully. He wasn’t even sure if Wynert could get them that far into India. He turned to Henry questioningly. “You’ve told them about the job, haven’t you?”

Now it was Greenie’s turn to look Sheepish. Jacob laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. It wasn’t like he minded, though he supposed that now he had business to attend to. He stood up, adjusting his hat on his head. “Well, if that’s all I’m needed for, I’ll be off. It seems I have some matters to attend to,” He nodded at all of them and started toward the door. There were a few ‘good afternoon’s aimed at him as he left. He stepped out of the pub and aimed his rope launcher at the gutter, zipping up toward the roof. 

\---

The worst part about living on a train is how uneven London’s tracks are. The minute you hit a large enough bump, the entire train jostles. The twins had found it a godsend when Agnes told them the train stopped at a depot at 10pm so she and the driver could get a good night’s sleep.

Which Jacob was doing right now. Or had been, more accurately. He was forced into wakefulness by books falling to the floor. He’d deal with it later when the train wasn’t moving.

But the train wasn’t moving. They must have stopped for the night. He couldn’t hear the gentle rolling of the wheels or the clattering they made going over rail joins.

So someone was on the train.

Jacob tensed, but didn’t move. Eagle Vision was out of the question, he couldn’t risk opening his eyes.

Whoever-it-was sounded like they were stacking the books again. Right next to Jacob’s head. He twitched his fingers, feeling the familiar weight of his gauntlet’s leather. He was too tired to have taken it off. The footsteps moved closer to him.

Now was his chance.

He shot his arm forward, wrist flexed, hidden blade out. Moving his arm in an upward sweep, he used the momentum to pull himself into a sitting position.

There was a surprised yelp. Jacob hadn’t felt any resistance on his blade. He’d missed. He opened his eyes to sneer at the intruder–

And locked eyes with Ned Wynert.

Wynert’s face had paled dramatically and his eyes were wide open. He let out a slow breath and raised his hands above his head. He looked rightly terrified. Jacob watched his throat bob, eyeing the blade.

“What’d I do this time, Frye.” He asked, his voice still of that smooth talking attitude Jacob was sure he ate for breakfast. As if he hadn’t just missed having a knife stuck in his thigh.

_Right. You can put your arm down now._ Jacob retracted the blade and rested his gauntlet hand in his lap, getting to work getting the glove off. “Sorry, you spooked me.” 

Wynert chuckled rather shakily and folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, lesson learned. Don’t wake a sleeping Frye Twin,” he admitted, leaning against the safe. Jacob felt a heat in his cheeks, realising that his eyes were directly level with Wynert’s hips. And other such parts of him—

_Manners, Jacob._

He snapped his eyes back up to meet the other man’s “I wasn’t aware you made house calls,” he was surprised Wynert was on the train at such late an hour. “Or train calls. Isn’t it a bit late? What time is it?” He rubbed at his face, at his eye. He hadn’t realised he was that tired. _Devil’s Acre is supposed to be better than that._

“I got one of those two gentlemen’s letters intercepted in a train I had someone rob,” he reached into his jacket and pulled out a letter to hand to Jacob, who took it and unfolded it. _What are the Templars up to now?_ “They mention Shibden Hall. Do you know where that is?”

Jacob furrowed his brow, confused. He knew Shibden Hall. _Why is it important?_ “That’s up near Leeds. About a two hour carriage ride,” he’d been to Halifax, the summer before he and Evie turned twelve. That was probably why he knew it. He turned his attention to the letter in his hands and was hit with a sweet, perfumey smell. His nose seemed to tighten, like a violent sneeze. He sneezed into his elbow, grimacing at the force of it. He caught Wynert jumping out of his skin and chuckled. “Don’t get too scared, I only stab when provoked,” he ignored Wynert’s disappointed noise and took to scanning the letter.

_Templar Jargon, polite letter rubbish…aha!_

_…We have low supplies of the key ingredient, however there is more of its_ _ flowers—an entire field of them—at Shibden Hall.  
The Listers are easily bought, gaining access to their field shouldn’t be a problem._

_May the father of understanding guide us._

Jacob sighed in exasperation. _What are the flowers for?_ He folded the letter up again. Whatever the Templars were up to couldn’t be good. And if Wynert got too far into it they’d definitely kill him. But his interference may give Jacob the infiltration chance he needed.

“How can we be in Halifax by tomorrow evening?” He shrugged at Wynert’s surprise. It sounded like a fun outing with a friend. If he ignored the Templars.

“There’s a train to _Leeds_ tomorrow morning. One always leaves at eight,” Wynert seemed to be getting it now. Jacob knew that look. He was calculating, weighing out his options.

“We catch that train then. We’ll be in and out of Halifax before anyone knows we’re there,”

“Except the next train to London isn’t until the next day. And we’d have to give ourselves more than a single afternoon to search Shibden hall. There’s no way of being sure we have the right flower field,”

“Except we don’t need an afternoon to wander the grounds. Get to a high enough point and you can see for miles. We’ll find it in no time,” _And sprinkle in a little bit of Eagle Vision, speed up the process_. Wynert removed his glasses to wipe them on a handkerchief.

“What do we do if we get caught?”

Jacob grinned and patted the gauntlet beside him. “We run. Or use my rope launcher if you don’t mind being carried on my back,”

Wynert gave him a ‘you’ve-got-to-be-kidding’ look but was silent for a while. More of the calculating face. Jacob stood up and stepped around him to open one of the drawers in the chest beside the safe. He rifled around, picking up folded clothes to inspect underneath them and putting them back down. _Where is that finery coat?_ It would most likely be way too hot for it, but being able to carry nine smoke bombs over six outweighed his need for comfort. He lifted the ulster he’d had made after killing twopenny, catching a glimpse of the blue and gold brocade. He pulled it from the drawer and shook it out.

“If you think you’ve covered everything,” Wynert turned to look at Jacob, raising an eyebrow at the coat. “Do you two ever wear anything fashionable?”

“Not since we were six years old,” Jacob draped the coat over the chest of drawers, pinning it underneath the flower pot. He made a note of looking for the belt later. “And there’s more planning to be done on the way to Leeds,” he turned back to Wynert and held out his hand. “Are you in?”

Wynert frowned at Jacob’s hand. He pulled the same calculating face. After a few seconds of silence, there was a muttered ‘what the hell’ and the Thief grasped the Assassin’s hand. “You got a deal Frye. But if we’re going to act as competition for their product, we should make ourselves a shell company,” Jacob nodded thoughtfully. What exactly they’d do with said shell company, Ned would have to explain. And would depend on what Jacob thought of this ‘main ingredient’. 

“Business partners, Wynert. You really know how to get a man going,” the shorter man scoffed and turned his head but jacob caught the wry grin. 

“Is that everything?” Jacob wracked his brains. There was something he was meant to ask. What had Henry wanted to know?

_Right! The transit to India!_

“How would three people quickly get into the heart of the Sikh Empire?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Lauren again for her amazing Betaing skills, Shereen for the translations and Dylan for thinking my plot was cool.
> 
> And you! For reading it!
> 
> Anyway you get two chapters in one day to make up for not posting last week.
> 
> Next up: Ned and Jacob take the train.


	6. Don't You Like The Country, Mister Frye?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein trains are taken and heart-to-hearts are had

Jacob Frye was a better travelling companion than Ned had expected. In fact, this was probably the best train ride he’d been on in a while. They’d spoken a lot about plans at first, then their shell company. Frye had wanted to steal a whole chestful of the plant, but Ned said they only needed a small crate. They had no idea what the recipe was and they didn’t need rotted and potentially poisonous plants lying around anywhere. Frye relented and the subject changed to other things.

Now the two of them were sitting opposite each other in silence. Ned was taking the opportunity to watch the countryside, head resting on the window. When he first arrived in England, he was surprised at how pretty their countryside was. That hadn’t changed, England was gorgeous.

He felt the weight of a stare on him. Unable to help himself, the smallest of smiles touched his lips. 

“I can feel you staring at me, Frye,” he murmured, looking at the man through the corner of his eye. They’d sat in their silence for the better part of an hour. Breaking it felt… odd. He caught Frye jump and divert his gaze at the sound of his name. There was a mumbled apology and silence again. Ned sighed, suddenly bored of the quiet. He stretched his arms wide and turned to face the other man. “Something on your mind?”

“I’m testing something. Making sure I’m doing it properly,” Frye said, focusing on Ned again. Ned was confused, scrunching his brow. He hadn’t noticed Frye holding anything or heard him fiddling with the tools on his glove. Or his belt. Or inside that rather gorgeous coat he was wearing that was bound to be made out of something devastatingly expensive. _Was he doing the eye thing?_

“Well, are you?” He tried. Maybe he wasn’t seeing things that day in his office. Maybe Frye _could_ change his eyes grey. At will. But for what purpose? A cool party trick? He wouldn’t put it past him, but it seemed like such an extraordinary effort to go to just to impress.

Frye stroked—Actually stroked— his chin. “I think so,” maybe Frye did go to that effort just to impress. Ned wouldn’t know. He didn’t know much about Frye, but a part of him wanted to find out.

“Should I be worried if you’re not?” Ned was sure he shouldn’t be, but if Frye was concerned he needed to know how careful he needed to be. Frye simply grinned at him. Because of course he did.

“You’re not _scared_ are you?”

Ned hoped his facial expression conveyed the immense disappointment he felt.

“Of course not. This isn’t my first time doing any big job. I’m not scared of a big house either,” he eyed Frye with the same amount of wariness he would show a kid who swore against picking his pocket. Was _he_ scared? “Are you?”

“I’ve broken into the Bank of England,” Frye scoffed and they lapse back into silence. Ned returned his attention to the passing country.

“You like the countryside,” Frye says. It’s soft. Not a jab or an attack. Ned nods, turning his gaze back to the Englishman. Even Frye’s expression was gentle and Ned couldn’t help but thank the powers that be for letting him see Frye like that. He’s gorgeous, which is thoroughly unfair.

“It’s pretty. I like seeing the greenery after so much industry,” he loved it back in America and he loves it even more here.

“It’s pretty, but it gets boring after a while,” Frye turned his own attention to the window. Ned stared at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“Industry is exciting and all, but there’s so much freshness out here. It makes me feel like a kid again,”

“Evie and I grew up in the country. For us, it’s _dull_. Well, we grew up in Crawley but the country is the country,”

“You two left home and started a gang in London because you were _bored?_ ”

If Ned was a love-struck teenager, he’d say Frye looked wistful. Maybe he did, but Ned wasn’t a love-struck teenager.

“Among other things,”

“Shit, Frye. Crawley must have been one hell of a place,”

“Why did you move from America? Do we have a better train system or do you just adore rain?” Ned chuckled at that.

_Because young women don’t get far in New York and young men in women’s bodies end up dead._

Of course, he couldn’t tell that to Frye. He doubted it would go down well. Half the truth would have to do.

“A friend asked me to help him out. The help he needed just happened to be in London,”

“Do you miss America?” That made Ned smile, a wistful smile.

_I won’t miss you, Mom. Tell dad not to come looking for me._

“Do you miss Crawley?”

“No,”

“No,” He watched the window for a while. “Everything I have is in London. Except Adam, but he writes to me often enough, so I don’t miss him,”

Frye didn’t ask about his family and he was grateful for it. They lapsed back into silence.

\---

The subsequent carriage ride to Halifax went well. Wynert had talked to no end about the books he had read as a teenager and why they were the best books he’d ever read and probably will ever read. Jacob couldn’t help but listen, enthralled by his commentary and just the fact of knowing him. Knowing that part of him. He could not abide Wynert’s opinions on Wuthering Heights, however, and the two of them had debated furiously about the poor book.

Now the two of them were in the room they’d rented above a pub. It was meagre but it suited their purpose. Thankfully, it had two beds.

But Jacob couldn’t sleep.

Usually when Jacob couldn’t sleep, Evie couldn’t sleep. When they were children they’d climb trees and houses as quietly as they could until they’d worn themselves out. So that’s what Jacob decided to do. He’d climbed out the small window and perched on the roof to watch the stars. _There are so many out here_ he mused. There were so many in the sky, it was hard work finding constellations in his absentminded search for them. Something was tugging on his attention, vying for it.

A memory.

Not a pleasant one.

_“You like the stars, Darling?”_

_No. Not now._

_“I used to like them too, when I was your age,”_

“I know. I remember,” there was a tingling on his cheek. A phantom of Roth’s touch. Jacob shut his eyes tight. Roth’s guttural laugh echoed through his head.

_“The Alhambra always had the best view of the stars,”_

“The stars aren’t yours Roth,”

_“But_ you’re _mine. You’ll always be mine.”_

Jacob groaned and slid down the tiles. _Roth is dead. What’s dead can’t hurt you._

_“I wouldn’t be so sure, Jacob my dear,”_

“The Alhambra is burnt, you with it. Eventually, you’ll be gone.”

“Frye?”

Jacob snapped his gaze to the sound of an accented voice. A rather bewildered and dishevelled Wynert stood on the tiles by the gutter, arms folded over his chest.

“You talkin’ to someone?” He drawled, accent thicker with sleep. Jacob shook his head, just a little embarrassed to have been caught. 

“Only if you believe in ghosts,” he murmured. Wynert regarded him before picking his way toward Jacob. He sat down, leaning back to look at the stars.

“I don’t,” there was a pause. “Can’t sleep?”

“Something like that,” He doesn’t mention the itching need to climb. To fill his hands and burn his lungs. Travelling jitters, most likely. “Sorry for waking you,”

He is waved off. Silence looms between them.

“Do you read much Shakespeare, Frye?”

Jacob turned his head, confused. What did Shakespeare have to do with anything? “What?”

“When I was a kid and couldn’t sleep, my older brother would read Shakespeare to me. Or with me. From A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It always helped me sleep,”

“Your brother sounds delightful,” Jacob considered for a moment. Maybe telling Wynert about the climbing wouldn’t be so bad. “When Evie and I were children we’d scale every climbable surface in town if one of us couldn’t sleep.”

“Do you want to try it?”

“Try what?”

“Reading, not climbing. I think climbing might be a bit loud,”

Jacob cast a glance to the stars.

“I don’t see why not,” he pulled himself off the tiles and held out a hand for Wynert to take. The smaller man helped himself up and the two of them climbed back into their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo two chapters in one day!
> 
> Thanks to Lauren for Betaing and you! For reading!
> 
> Next up: Jacob Frye is a show off and Ned Wynert has a heart attack


	7. Heart Attacks are My Neutral State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherin The Assassin shows off, The Thief is terrified and flowers are found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I'm very sorry this is a day late, I've had exams and hoo boye. Who knows, during the holidays I'll post multiple chapters in a week?
> 
> This chapter was a PUNISH to write and I'm glad it's edited, because it came out so much better than it was written in my notebook.
> 
> Enjoy!

Apparently, Shakespeare _does_ work. Ned silently thanked his brother for the advice. Frye doesn’t need to know that it was always Eddie who couldn’t sleep. The two of them slept well enough afterward, and boy was he glad for it.

Shibden Hall was a long way out of Halifax town. The two of them had been walking for the best part of an hour, with precious little to show for it. Most of the plants they’d seen were seedy wild grasses: wheat, sorghum, and the like. No flowers just yet. 

Occupied with other things, Ned had been slow to notice whenFrye turned around to shoot him a mischievous grin. Ned rolled his eyes, a long-suffering gesture. But for all his annoyance at the outright stupidity, he couldn’t ignore the warmth in his chest because of it.

It was stupid to think that smile was reserved for him. He thought it was, anyway.

“Are you tired already?” Frye asked. He raised an eyebrow and gestured at the space between them.

“I’m only a yard behind you,” he replied. Though he sounded exasperated, he couldn’t help but grin at the man.

Frye shrugged. “I’d prefer you kept closer,” he noted, dragging his eyes over Ned, “Then I’d know you’re not about to drop from exhaustion.” Ned refused to blush, and Frye screwed up his nose. “Aren’t you hot? You’re wearing three layers.” _Four,_ Ned mentally corrected him, _Of course, that’s none of your business._

Ned self-consciously pulled on the bottom of his vest. “Frye, it’s barely ninety degrees. Trust me, I can handle it,”

As they crested the hill, their view opened up to a bank lined with trees another few hundred yards away. Tree banks usually indicated a house on a big property, but Ned wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed that they’d found it. At least they didn’t have so much walking left to do. Not that he was tired. He vehemently _refused_ to admit to Frye he was tired.

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the other side of the tree bank.

Frye had stopped just before the clear strip of grass, looking out at the surroundings. Ned came to a stop beside him, shoving his hands into his pockets. In front of them, across what could be another five-hundred yards of grass, was a large house. Mostly white-painted bricks with wooden beams running diagonally across the walls. There were a few squat towers built into the corners, made of the same white brick and roofed in slate tiles.

He turned to Frye, who was fixing the house with a hundred yard stare. Before he could comment on the look and it’s intensity—boy, did he look intense—he noticed the colour of the other man’s eyes. They’d turned that stormy grey again, grey that swallowed his pupil and the hazel iris that usually surrounded it. Frye blinked and his eyes returned to normal. A smile cured the corners of his mouth and he gave Ned a sideways glance, as if nothing odd had just happened.

“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to stare?” he drawled, pivoting to face Ned.

“I just assumed yours didn’t,” Ned retorted. The jovial look in Frye’s eyes turned to sour offense, turned to hurt, so Ned changed tactics. “What’re you thinking?”

“If I can get up one of those towers, I might be able to see where that field of flowers is,” he mused. His gaze darted to the sky at the sound of a bird’s call and he smiled at it like an old friend. “Right on time.”

Ned took a closer look at the grass spread out between them and the Hall. This, he knew, was a bad idea. 

“Frye, you’re gonna get caught,” he berated, pinching the bridge of his nose. Silence. “Frye?” More silence. Ned opened one eye, raising an eyebrow with it.

Frye was running across the grass at full pelt. _Oh shit._ Ned groaned and threw caution to the wind, bolting after him. This isn’t what they’d planned, and if they got out of it without becoming target practice, he swore he’d punch Frye in his stupid face. Didn’t he have _any_ idea of how stealth was supposed to work? Ned watched him stow his hat and pull a hood over his head, as if that alone was supposed to hide him. Frye was fast, though, he’d give him that. Apparently if it worked for urchins, it would have to work for them.

“Frye!” Ned hissed, coming up behind the man. _Shit he’s fast._ “Frye are you crazy?! You’re going to get us caught!” Frye had the decency to slow down, but not enough to look rightly chastised.

“There’s no one here. How d’you expect we’ll get caught with no-one to catch us?” He darted toward the wall, pressing himself into the white bricks behind a pile of hay. Ned skidded to a halt beside him, following his lead and resting his back against the cold wall. “All the servants are either inside or far enough away that, if need be, we have a good head start.”

  
Ned hoped the latter never became an option. When they were on the train, they’d agreed that Frye would climb to the top floors and work his way down to Ned, who would take the bottom floors. They’d meet in the middle. They’d have to scour every slip of paper they could looking for mention of a flower field. But if Frye wanted to climb up the _tower_ without the staff seeing him—

His thoughts ground to a halt.

_“All the servants are either inside or far enough away…”_

How did Frye know that? Sure, no one was overtly milling around the grass this side of the house, but Frye couldn’t see through walls. He couldn’t tell if anyone was just close enough to catch them.

“How do you know that?” he pressed, hoping it sounded more wary than suspicious. Frye looked at him from under his hood and Ned thought he saw him panicking for a split second.

He shrugged, as if it was obvious. “I have excellent hearing,” before Ned could respond, a bird’s call caught Frye’s attention. Ned heard him mutter something close to ‘yeah yeah’ before throwing a sly grin at the American. “See you in five.”

“That’s not how hearing works!”

Frye took hold of a loose brick and physically launched himself up the wall. He caught himself on another brick before ascending the wall at breakneck speed, like a spider climbing his web. Ned watched him, awed by the speed and almost-grace of the ascent. The meagre, jutted brick ladder on the Southwark warehouse wall must be child's play for him.

As Frye flipped himself over the gutter and out of sight, Ned was left to wonder who the hell Frye really was. He could fight twenty men without making a mistake, climb three stories in less than a minute and left Crawley to start a gang with his sister because they were _bored_. What the hell was he? Besides bashful and sarcastic and a stupid ass. Ned had never seen anything like him.

That bird screeched again and Ned saw it circling, ready to fly off. He took a few steps backward, craning his neck to catch it fly over the tower.

The tower that Frye was perched on. On one foot. The man swivelled toward Ned, paused for a moment…

Then leapt. 

Ned’s breath caught in his throat. Frye was soaring through the air, arms stretched wide. Slowly, slowly, his body turned in the air. Free falling rear-first into the ground. Ned watched, both terrified and awed, chest tightening with something he refused to call grief. Frye was going to land and his bones would crunch and shatter and he’d be so so lucky if he made it out alive—

He hit the pile of hay that Ned had passed by with an airy thud.

“ _FRYE!”_ he cried, pushing the discomfort at the sound of his voice aside. Lunging for the hay, he stuck an arm into the hay. He’d have to drag Frye’s broken body back to Halifax, back to London, back to Dame Frye—

The hay exploded, sending pieces of it flying. He stumbled back in shock, landing ungracefully on his ass. 

Frye had popped out of the hay, grinning like a maniac. Unbloodied. Not even a little bruised. He clambered out of the hay toward Ned, as if he hadn’t just jumped from thirty feet and could still stand. Frye jerked his head in some direction or other.

“I found it. C’mon,” He said, reaching out a hand. Ned didn’t take it. “Oh,” He said, his expression forming into one of concern.

“Are- How? You jumped-” Ned stammered. He felt like throwing up. He probably looked white as a sheet. Frye’s concern turned back into a smile. This one was soft, kind, like Frye had just realized something.

“I’ll explain later. Come on, while there’s still no one outside to see us,”

\---

Maybe jumping into that haystack wasn’t the best idea. Not when Wynert didn’t know he’d be okay. To make it up to the poor man, he even offered to buy him a bottle of scotch, even if it wasn’t spectacular.

Still, it had taken the whole fifteen minute walk for the poor man to regain colour in his face. 

And now they stood in front of row after row of white flowers. They seemed to glow in the sunlight, a golden colour like the sunset in summer. Jacob dropped to a crouch to get a good look at them.

“Well, these are some flowers,” Wynert remarked, kneeling beside Jacob. He plucked one and held it to his nose.

“These have to be our flowers,” He didn’t know why he knew, even without the Vision, but these were the ones the Templars were writing about. He tucked a finger under one of the leaves and tilted it upward, fascinated by the pale green. _This vein pattern is… unusual._ Where did he know it from? He pulled the leaf off The stem and held it closer to his face. _No. It can’t be._ “The shroud—”

“Is it the glow? ‘Cause I don’t think plants that _glow_ wouldn’t be poisonous—I’m sorry, what?” _Oh shit._ Jacob cleared his throat in an attempt to not look sheepish and prepared himself for the greatest backpedal in all his twenty-two years. 

“I recognise these flowers from a shawl that belonged to my Nan,”

“White poinsettias? Frye these can’t be our flowers,”

“There’s certainly something going on with them.” He turned his gaze to Wynert in the hope that giving him enough puppy eyes would save his case. The American gave him the side eye, one eyebrow raised judgmentally. He took a second to reconsider, then sighed and held the flower out to Jacob.

“If you’re right—and I really hope you are—this could be something good.” There was a greedy glint in his eyes, like he was staring at a chest full of jewels. Jacob suppressed the hope that the look was for him, not the flowers. He took the bloom and smiled back with just the corner of his mouth. He also couldn’t ignore the sympathy he felt for Wynert. He didn’t know about the Pieces of Eden, about why they couldn’t keep these flowers. He didn’t know, and he shouldn’t have to. Jacob had to protect him. He thumbed at one of the higher leaves, inspecting the pattern of straight lines and circles that made the veins. It was the same pattern on the shroud. It _had_ to be Precursor.

“Somehow, Wynert,” He said, turning his regretful smile into a playful smirk. “I think you’ll get your money’s worth.”

Wynert smiled at him—like _he_ was the chest of jewels—and it warmed Jacob’s heart.

The American stood up, taking a moment to brush off his knees. “We’ll come back to grab a crate of them later now that we know where they are.”

“Back to town?” Jacob suggested as he stood. A playful suggestion.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Erica for her Beta of this chapter and her commentary on the story! and thanks for reading!
> 
> Also what does everyone think is going on with the Templars? Leave your thoughts in the comments, I'd love to hear them.
> 
> Next up: Ned sees someone he doesn't want to and Jacob harasses Evie about Alec.


	8. When Friends (and Family) Give You Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the Thief receives the greatest shock of his life and the Assassin shares his newfound Piece of Eden with his Sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes possibly triggering elements. Readers sensitive to deadnaming and misgendering are advised to skip the flashbacks in this chapter.
> 
> If I've messed anything up in the accurate portrayal of transgender characters, please let me know and I'l do my best to fix it.

Ned hadn’t expected to enjoy the last few days quite so much. Even if the scotch Frye bought him was horrible. Even if Frye had scared the shit out of him. He almost didn’t want to come back to work. Almost. 

“And what exactly do you call this?” Julie called as soon as he stepped into her room outside his office. She held up a note written in his hand. “I had those runners try and pick my pocket twice while I was having your meetings cancelled.” 

Ned stopped in the doorway, if only to roll his eyes at her. “You paid them each ten shillings. You always pay them ten shillings,” he looked at her sternly from over his glasses, walking up to her and snatching the note from her hand. She returned the look for all of three seconds before breaking out into a smile.

“ _You_ pay me too much,” she accused, though there was no real menace in it.

“ _I_ just give you the extra trinkets I don’t want. I can stop if you’d like,” he grumbled, scanning the note. 

_Dear Julie,_

_I’m going out for three days, I’ll explain when I get back._ _I’m trusting you with the keys. Don’t burn down the  
_ _warehouse_ _and don’t drink my whiskey._

_Yours, Ned._

“Where did you go?” She twirled toward her chair, dress swishing dramatically in her wake. Despite how cool she was playing it, she sounded like a thirteen-year-old when she got excited over gossip. Ned realised that this was indeed a trap. But she’d bug him for the rest of the morning if he didn’t tell her. He sighed defeatedly.

“Halifax. We went moseying around some flowers. A new product.”

“We?”

“I brought Mister Frye with me.”

Immediately, her eyes lit up, as if she’d just received the best Christmas present of her life. He groaned, realising that maybe he shouldn’t have said that. “No. Not like that. It was _strictly_ business,” he stormed to his office door and stopped in front of it, throwing one last half-hearted scowl over his shoulder. “I _don’t_ like him.”

“Not even a little?” her voice was too sweet to be anything but malicious.

“He’s just a friend,” he pushed the door open, but turned in the doorway and dropped his briefcase.

“Friend, not associate?” _Oh, shit._

“Stop reading into it!” He yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to wipe his glasses with it. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

“Oh, someone made an appointment to see you today. Though you won’t like who,” all sweetness and excitement left her face once he’d put his glasses back on. Which concerned Ned greatly.

“Who is it?”

“A Mister and Mistress Wynn?”

No.

This can’t be happening.

“And you didn’t tell them to find someone else?” He exclaimed, wincing at the shrillness in his voice. They can’t know he’s here. He changed his last name, he stopped stealing Eddie’s clothes, he even got new glasses. He buried Netta the day he left New York. He had to turn them away. 

“They said they were recommended by Adam Worth.”

Because of _course_ Adam would do something like this.

“When do they get here?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“Good. I’ve got a strongly worded letter to write.”

\---

“Excuse me Mister Wynert,” Julie started, opening the doors slightly to lean through the gap. “Mister and Mistress Wynn are here to see you.”

Ned, startled by the sudden introduction, jumped right out of his skin. Was it ten-thirty already? He sat up straighter and pulled on his jacket. “Let them in, please,” he said, trying his hardest to feel as confident as he was supposed to. Julie stepped back and pushed the door open to let the guests in.

The two people he never thought he’d see again. _Deep breath Ned._

Jeremiah Wynn looked almost unchanged over the last nine years. The same long face, the same thin, sharp jaw. The features Ned had got from him, and was thankful for. His hair, however, had changed, sporting a grey streak on his right side that ran in a straight line through the dark locks. He was still tall and imposing, striding into the office as if it were his own study. Ned tried his hardest not to grimace at the feeling of his stupid office.

_“Dad, I was wondering, is there any way I could come with you on your trip?”_ _Ned asked, wringing his hands behind  
his dress. He stood in front of his dad’s _ _desk, as straight as he could to see over the rich dark timber. “And with  
_ _Eddie. I_ _want to see how you do your job.”_ _His father looked up from his work to scowl down at him._

 _“No, Netta. You know_ _bringing a young woman on these trips is inappropriate. Your mother and your_ _sister need  
you here.” _ But I’m not a girl! _Ned wanted to scream. He wanted to_ _scream that at Dad, at Mom, at anyone_ _who  
__would listen._

_“Please Dad—”_

_“No, Netta! You are a young woman and I won’t have you doing anything to_ suggest the contrary. _You embarrass_  
 _your mother and I enough,”_ _he rose from_ _his chair and stalked past Ned, as if trying to intimidate him. “And return  
_ _your brother’s_ _purple cravat, please. He’s been_ _looking for it all day.”_

 _Ned just whimpered and wrapped his arms around his stomach, waiting for_ _the urge to vomit to pass._ I’m not a girl.

_How rude, Dad._

Emele Wynn, however, seemed to have grown. She was always short, that was probably where Ned got his height from, but she looked so much more proud of herself. Those deep brown eyes, the eyes she gave him, didn’t have that mournful quality to them quite so much anymore. Maybe losing her too-charismatic, embarrassingly boyish middle child changed her.

_“Henrietta! Henrietta, how could you say such a thing?” His mother hissed,_ _grabbing a hold of his forearm. He was  
_ _halfway between his last conversational_ _group and the stairs to the next floor when he froze, turning his head to  
scowl at _ _her._

 _“Say what, Mom?” He hissed back, squinting at her in frustration. They were_ _at a party for fuck’s sake. “That Tobias  
_ _couldn’t win at a sword fight against a_ _girl even if he tried?”_

 _His mother nodded, scowling back at him. “You have to go and apologise. You_ _had no right to say so.”_

 _He pressed his lips together into a thin line. “No, Mom. Not until_ he _apologises_ _for insulting me about travelling,” he  
yanked his arm from her grip, furiously _ _snapping his fan open and fanning at where she had gripped his arm. There  
_ _was no real mark there, but he could feel her grip like a brand on his skin._ _“In fact, I think I’m going to prove it to him.  
You people love a bit of good- _ _natured sword-fighting, don’t you?” He started to stalk away but yelped as his_ _arm was  
grabbed at again. _

_“You, madame, are going to do no such thing. You will_ apologise _and then you_ _will fix your hair, smile, and pretend  
like nothing ever happened. _”

 _The two of them stared off for a good minute. Ned freed himself from her grip once_ _more, turning on his heel and  
stalking past her. He felt like vomiting. He didn’t _ _want to look at himself in the mirror, didn't want fix his hair and look  
girly and be placid. He was going to beat Tobias in that sword _ _fight and prove to everyone that he wasn’t a girl. He  
couldn’t wait to get out of here. _

_“Why must you embarrass us, Netta?”_

Ned wasn’t sure if he should be offended or relieved.

He rose from his seat, rounded his desk and extended a hand, putting on the most charming smile he could manage. “Mister Wynn, Mistress Wynn, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Jeremiah took his hand and shook it firmly. Emele held out her own hand and Ned took it after her husband’s, bowing to place a light kiss on her knuckle. He released her and gestured to the seats in front of the desk. “Please, sit. What can I help you with today?” _Please don’t say finding Netta, please don’t._

Once they were settled, Jeremiah spoke up. “We’re looking for transport of auctionable goods from storage in New York to the auction house here in London.” he explained. Ned was pleasantly surprised. His fake charming smile quickly became sincere as he lowered himself into his desk chair. 

“We met with Mister Worth and he told us yours was the best transit company in England.” Emele said, reaching into her purse and pulling out an envelope. “He asked us to give this to you, as a means of proving our legitimacy,” he took the letter from her, glancing at the seal on the back. It was Adam’s seal, in bright green wax. Friendship, not business. He cracked the wax and unfolded the letter. 

Dear Ned,

I know you must think I’ve caused you great offence sending these two your way. But trust me, I have plans to make it worth  
your while. Your dear old parents have come into some valuables they plan to sell at auction in London. Most of their wares  
are jewellery and fine art. Nothing much in there that they’d miss.

Some of this art, however, I’ve decided would look good on the walls of other buyers. I’ll be sending you some fakes in a  
separate shipment, and I’ll be needing you to switch them and send them back to me. My buyers will be satisfied and the Wynn’s  
reputation in England will be slightly diminished. It's not a lot, but it's something.

Keep whatever other trinkets you decide to get your sticky fingers on.

Sincerely, Adam.

Ned folded the paper once more and gently placed it down. _God Adam, what are you doing to me._ “Well Mister Wynn, Mistress Wynn, I think you’ve come to the right man.”

\---

Jacob was leaning against a wall, twirling the flower Wynert gave him between two fingers like a lovestruck sixteen-year-old when Evie sauntered past him. She’d returned from God knows where, blood droplets splattered on the metal of her gauntlet. She barely stopped her mission toward her train car to ask: “From a new lady-caller, Jacob?” but stopped halfway past the safe. “Is that a poinsettia?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” he muttered, holding it out for her inspection. “Does the vein pattern look familiar to you?”

She took a few steps backward, pivoted and reached out a hand to lift one of the leaves on the tip of her finger. “It looks Precursor.” She breathed, as if saying it too loud would break the air of reverence she spoke with about Pieces of Eden.

“It looks like the Shroud.” He whispered back. She met his eyes, both shock and wariness on her face.

“Where did you get this?”

“Halifax. In a field owned by the Lister Family. I helped Wynert dig up a few of the plants to keep as samples. He found them in a Letter intercepted from the Templars, completely by accident.”

“Do you think the Templars are after the shroud again?”

“I don’t think so. They’ve been writing about this, specifically.”

“We should check on it, to be safe.”

“We’d have to request an audience with good old Vickie—”

“—Which would probably be a very tedious process—

“—Just walking onto the grounds would be a bit stupid.”

“We’ll request an audience anyway. We are knights, and Her Majesty knows the severity of the situation of the Shroud.”

“Of course.”

They lapsed into silence and Jacob let Evie take the flower. She held it up to the window, looking at it with every bit of wonder and analysis she had in her body. He’d almost forgotten how much she loved her Pieces of Eden. Showing her something new—even on entirely mundane subjects—fascinated her to no end. She turned back to him. “We need to talk to the Council about this.”

He’d forgotten about the council entirely. They’d been so busy trying to stamp out the Templars in London, and keeping any new Grand Masters at bay, _and_ doing all their Rook business that they’d never actually gotten around to informing the council about last year’s events. But that meant going back to Crawley, where the Council would definitely take the investigation out of their hands, or force them to take another Assassin to help. Then what would happen to his time with Wynert? God, he didn’t want to give that up.

“I think telling the Council should wait,” he blurted, feeling just a little sheepish. Yes it was for entirely selfish reasons, but maybe he deserved those selfish reasons. “Just until we figure out what these flowers _do_ ,” Evie looked pleasantly surprised at his suggestion, then thoughtful. “You know what George is like,” he tried. That finally had her nodding in agreement.

“He’d want us to stall, to be patient.”

“And then we’d never figure it out."

She gave him a smirk. The same smirk from the day they hopped on that train to London. “Jacob Frye, I think you’re right.”

He returned with the same grin from last year. “We’ll take it to Alec, see if he can tell us anything.”

“I’ll do it.”

“You? Take it to Alec? Doesn’t he still fancy you?” He quipped, grin quickly turning malicious. He stalked around her, toward the pub car door and snatched the flower from her hand.

“We can still be friends,” she had that playful huff in her voice, the one where she knew she should be annoyed, but really wasn’t.

“Oh Evie!” he flung the back of his free hand to his forehead. “Would you mind collecting another arbitrary shipment for me just so I can talk to you more? Oh Evie, what an incredible flower you’ve brought! Does this mean you’ll take me instead of insisting on Mister Green, even though I can’t compete with him?” This time, Evie rolled her eyes and prodded Jacob in the shoulder. 

“You say that almost like you don’t act the same way. What about Mister Wynert?” 

“What about me and Wynert?”

“Wynert and I—”

“—That’s what I said.”

“Everyone notices you flirting with him.”

 _Is it that obvious?_ “I don’t _like_ him, he just doesn’t bite my ear off about it.” Did he like Wynert? He wasn’t exactly sure. Of course, the man was _attractive_ both physically and in personality and Jacob could listen to him talk about Transit all day, but that didn’t mean he _liked_ him. Just that he liked him.

“And spending three days in the countryside with him is just a friendly trip?”

“Business trip, actually.” Evie fell silent, but the look in her eyes said it all. She wasn’t convinced. It was the same look she gave Greenie when he gave some terrible excuse for not doing something he was really just embarrassed to do. She thought this was _cute._ He shoved her lightly and pouted. “I _don’t_ like him.”

The two of them laughed as she shoved him back. “We should find someone who can properly analyse the flower.”

“Someone who isn’t in love with you.”

“Someone who knows the Pieces of Eden.”

“Greenie might know someone.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him,” she pivoted on her heel and made for the car door.

“You can make it your pillow-talk.”

She made a very vulgar gesture, but said nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all this chapter took probably the most revision out of all my chapters. But I love it so much.
> 
> Who's excited for Ned flashbacks? I certainly am!
> 
> I'd like to thank Chloe and Lauren for editing this chapter and giving me tips on how to improve it!
> 
> I'm hoping to get a couple of chapters a week uploaded these school holidays because I have no studying to do and have so much more writing time! So we'll see how that goes.
> 
> Next up: Jacob and Evie get mail and pester Ned simply because he's there.


	9. The Royal Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein The Twins recieve a letter, a dress is sewn and the Thief's spirits are lifted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me bein like Oprah "You get a car, you get a car, you get a car" Winfrey. But make it chapters. Congrats! you get three chapters today!
> 
> the dress in this chapter is based off an amalgamation of these two dresses found at the V&A: http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O13844/dress-unknown/ and http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O13846/day-dress-unknown/
> 
> Amalgamate them as you will.

“Jacob,” Evie called, not bothering to knock. “Have you seen this?” She was holding an open letter, addressed in excessively pretty handwriting and sealed with white wax. Jacob shook his head, intrigued. The two of them barely ever got letters, and certainly never from what could be a reputable source. Judging by the handwriting alone, the writer had credentials. He sat up a little in his seat and squinted at the address on the back.

_Am I not reputable, My dear?_

_Shut up, you._

“Read it?” He requested. Evie cleared her throat and looked down at the piece of paper.

_"The twins Frye are cordially invited to attend Spring’s high tea with their fellow Knights of the Garter and_  
 _her Majesty Queen Victoria, Empress of India. Should they accept such an invitation, they are to attend the_  
 _event at Buckingham Palace, two hours past noon onMay the First, year of our Lord 1869. They are_  
 _permitted one companion each, should they wish to be accompanied._

The rest is official writing about the scribe’s authority,” Evie finished.

Jacob might have choked, had he anything to choke on. Instead, he laughed. Loudly. 

“You’re not going, are you?” An accented voice asked from the door of the train car. It was distinctly American.  
  
 _Of course Wynert doesn’t know how to knock._ Jacob leant one arm on the back of his lounge, throwing Wynert a wink over his shoulder.

“I don’t see why not, it gives us the perfect opportunity to speak with the Queen on important matters,” Evie replied. Jacob took a good look at Wynert. The American looked both concerned and angry; both things he would try his damndest could fix with a couple of well placed quips. 

“I think Wynert doesn’t see us as cultured enough for the Queen,” He drawled, grinning lazily at the thief. The bland look he received in reply pleased him greatly.

“You two would terrify the poor assholes at that picnic,” Wynert said, strolling past the bookshelves and plopping himself down on the lounge next to Jacob. Evie, to her credit, managed to look a small bit offended.

“Terrify?”

“I don’t want to be mean, Dame Frye, but how well versed are you two in interacting with high society? Do you have any idea about the manners and training that takes?”

Jacob and Evie shared a look and concluded that no, they had no clue. The only real reason they survived last year’s ball was because they didn’t have to interact with anyone. Wynert sighed, but made no further comment. Evie whirled on him, a mischievous look in her eye.

“I don’t suppose you could come with us, Mister Wynert?” As Jacob’s ‘companion’?” Her mischievous look turned to Jacob, who tried his damnedest to ignore how his stomach clenched at the idea. He and Wynert shared a startled look, the other man’s eyes wide and… searching? For what, Jacob didn’t know. Evie knew what she was doing suggesting such things, and he couldn’t help but hope that maybe it wasn’t such an outrageous idea. 

His fingers were close to the back of Wynert’s neck, and they brushed his collar. He shouldn’t want to touch him so bad, but the idea of being so close made him feel all warm and cuddly inside.  
  
“If he were to come with me, he’d have to wear a dress. Something I really don’t see him doing,” Jacob said doubtfully, looking the small man up and down. Despite the attractiveness of the American, and the beauty of modern dress styles, the idea of Wynert trussed up in all those yards of fabric rubbed Jacob the wrong way. “Unless, of course, you’d like to? Purely for the illusion of the disguise...” 

Wynert squinted grumpily at him. “Not a chance, Frye,” Jacob shrugged… and had a much better idea.

“Evie, why don’t _you_ wear the dress? Wynert can come as your accompaniment,” He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. For what reason, he had no idea—it didn’t honestly sit well with him. “Assuming Greenie didn’t get an invitation,”

His sister looked less than pleased, folding her arms against the idea of wearing a dress. Jacob knew he had overstepped. Evie and Greenie were a _thing_ and the poor man would be none-too pleased watching Wynert play her sweetheart. Probably as displeased as Jacob in the face of Wynert pretending to be in love with her. “Jaya would have gotten one. He may not be English, but he’s still a Knight,”

“This is assuming I agree to come,” Wynert reminded them, sounding half as grumpy as before.

“Play Evie’s sweetheart. We wouldn’t want to _terrify_ the Queen with Evie and Greenie’s relationship. You could protect their sensibilities and make sure we don’t offend anyone with our peasantry. You know how parties work, don’t you?”  
  
The man was silent for a long while. Jacob could _see_ the cogs turning in his brain. He needed something to sweeten the deal, so he leaned in to croon into Wynert’s ear. “This is Buckingham palace. The place is full of pretty trinkets. I’m sure you could pocket something without anyone noticing. Or maybe steal something of more significant value,” _if you get my meaning._ He felt a blush staining his cheeks at the suggestion, both at stupidity and the boldness of it.

“Jacob!” Evie cried. She must have heard him. _Shit._

He whipped around to look at her. “What?”

“You’re not stealing from Buckingham Palace!”

He opened his mouth for a retort but was interrupted by Wynert’s hand on his shoulder.

“If I _do_ come,” he declared, using Jacob as leverage to lift himself off the lounge. “Dame Frye, I’d like to take a look at your wardrobe,”

Evie flushed red, now looking properly offended. _Oh dear_. “Why?!”

This was the moment Wynert knew he fucked up.

This was also the moment Jacob knew he’d have to save Wynert’s unfortunate arse. “Evie you _do_ have an unfortunately small collection of dresses,” Evie turned on him, looking no less offended. _Not the best approach._ “This is just like last year’s ball. We’re blending in. You don’t think Wynert can help us out?”

“Fine. But this new one is going in the lake too,” she murmured and stalked toward her train car. Wynert turned to Jacob, surprised. Jacob just shrugged.

“She never did like dresses,”

Wynert grinned. “Neither did I,”

“You should probably follow her,”

The American nodded and headed off in the direction of Evie’s car. Jacob was left to wonder what he meant by that. 

\---

Dame Frye’s wardrobe was… sad. It was mostly well-made coats and britches and vests. A lovely wardrobe in its own right, but better suited to climbing the buildings of London and beating peoples’ faces in. A picnic with the Queen? Not so much. As much as he knew it would pain her, and as much as he knew that pain himself, she’d have to wear one.

“Dame Frye, you’re going to have to get a new dress,” he grimly declared. Looking back at her, she was not pleased. “I get how you feel and I know how painful it is. But it’s only one day. Two, maybe three hours, tops,” She eyed him dryly, as if she knew exactly what he was on about and couldn’t mount a successful protest.

“I know, Mister Wynert. I’ve had to wear a dress before.” she stated, waving him off. “Where exactly do I get a day dress from in such a short period of time?” Ned frowned, considering. He’d seen patterns in magazines lying around on Julie’s desk. Surely she wouldn’t mind him borrowing some.

“I have an idea, Dame Frye, but it’s going to involve a lot of people helping out with the sewing.”

“If we can _finish_ it in two weeks, I don’t think I have much choice in the way of protest.”

“Evie, you’ve seen the size of skirts in Westminster, haven’t you?” Frye’s smug voice asked from just outside the door. Ned watched him practically slide into the room, eyes shut and looking ready to stir up some trouble.

“Jacob, do you have anything useful to add to the conversation?”

“I’m just asking where you plan on getting a crinoline that big,”

“You wouldn’t have one laying around from one of your lady callers?”

“I suspect you think too lowly of me, dear sister,”

Ned wasn’t sure what the feeling chewing at his gut was. Disappointment? Probably not. Jealousy? _Definitely_ not. 

He put it to needing to speak to more people. 

“You always were bad at hiding things from me.” Dame Frye stepped past Ned and reached into her little closet, pulling out a thinly wired crinoline. She held it out to her brother, who’d finally opened his eyes. Upon seeing the undergarment, he flushed red. 

Ned wasn’t jealous.

“That was Christmas!” Frye declared, as if it would act in his defence.

“Under my bed?”

“I’m not going to shag some poor woman on my lounge.”

Having decided the two of them had forgotten he was there (and not wanting to listen to Frye defend his sexual history), Ned loudly cleared his throat.

“Well Dame Frye, you’ve got a suitable support garment. I’ll see if I can snag a dress pattern or two for you to peruse. If I’m no longer needed—”

Frye grabbed his wrist just as he was leaving. It wasn’t harsh—rather, it was the opposite of his mom’s fiery grip—but it still made Ned stop and his heart skip a beat. He turned to look, and Frye was smiling softly down at him. “Thank you. For agreeing to come, I mean.”

\---

As promised, Ned procured them a magazine full of dress patterns. He declined to go fabric shopping with them, however. He doubted the process of making a dress would be of any interest or pleasure to him anyway. He doubted even more that the Frye twins would enjoy that sort of thing.

So he was surprised by the family workshop he discovered on their train four days later.

He truly had been busy the last few days, working to get the beginnings of a plan in place for Adam’s request. He hoped that maybe Frye would work with him in this job, too.

He knocked on the door to what was, he supposed, Frye’s bedroom. The door was open and he could see the twins sitting close together. Henry Green was sitting with Dame Frye, talking softly and slowly to her. Ned knocked again, louder this time, and now the three of them looked up at him. Frye broke into a wide smile, looking excited to see him. Dame Frye offered him a smaller smile, and Sir Green a little wave.

“Wynert! What a pleasant surprise.” Frye exclaimed, laying whatever he was doing on his lap.

 _Is that_ **_sewing_ ** _?!_

“Frye, Dame Frye, Sir Green,” Ned said, striding into the car. It _was_ sewing. Each of them, upon closer inspection, had varying amounts of fabric bundled up in their laps. “Are you… or, we... sewing your dress for the picnic, Dame Frye?”

“With the help of my brother and Mister Green.” She said, drawing her work closer to her face. It seemed to Ned that the fabric was distributed between the three, Frye with the most of it and Sir Green with the least.

“Poor Evie wants it finished quickly so she doesn’t have to think about it any more than absolutely necessary.” Frye said, hopping off the safe beside the lounge. He held up what looked like a skirt and shook it out in front of him. It was a light purple cotton with red five chevrons running up the centre front panel. He turned toward Dame Frye, holding out a hand to help her up. She sighed and put her bundle of cloth on the lounge, swinging her legs off the side. She stood up and frowned at the skirt.

It was then Ned realised she was in nothing but a sports corset and a chemise.

He gasped and averted his eyes, turning toward the bookshelf. There was a couple of seconds of hissed bickering, none of which he could hear properly. _Kids._ Then the sound of metal wire hitting against itself. “What are you doing here, Mr. Wynert?” He heard Dame Frye ask. What _was_ he here for? He honestly didn’t have a plan past ‘Get on the Frye’s Train.’

_Etiquette! Yes, that was it!_

He refrained from turning to address them both, speaking pointedly into the bookshelf. “I uh… I thought I’d come and help you two—three brush up on your formal party etiquette. I may not be able to help Dame Frye much but…”

“No offence Jacob, I’ve always been the more polite of the two of us.”

Frye made an indignant sound and Ned heard a soft whack. He stifled a laugh. There were some murmurings about the dress.

“Does formal business etiquette match that of talking to the Queen?” Sir Green asks. That was the million-dollar question.

_How does American etiquette match that of the English?_

Ned hoped that the two matched up enough. “Make that American _upper class_ etiquette. I went to a few parties as a kid, it isn’t that hard. You pick it up after a while.” The three others gathered in the train car fell into a surprised silence. _Oops._ Had he just… said that? In front of them?

He was supposed to have moved on from it by now.

He hated how much it hurt. The one thing he ran from being the thing the Fryes wanted him to help them with. He should walk away. From this, from both of them. From—

“Are you alright, Wynert?” Frye asked. His voice was soft. Gentle. And close. _How in the hell?_ Ned looked up over his shoulder at the man, surprised at how quickly he managed to sneak up on him. Frye looked, in all honesty, like a concerned puppy. Ned scoffed, putting on a haughty smile.

“C'mon Frye, the only thing bothering me is the fact that you smell like Thames water. How often do you wash after taking a dip in that?”

The deflection was worth it. It saved him from being weirdly honest and got Frye taking a few steps back to a comfortable distance.

“Jacob, any closer and he’ll be under your arm.” Dame Frye scolded. Frye seemed to almost flush, turning back around to his sister. “You can turn around now, Mr Wynert.” Ned obliged, avoiding commenting on the dress. _God, that skirt is wide._ It was mostly unfinished, but the bodice was completely put together, just waiting on trimming and sleeves. There were bits of frayed threads wisping from the armholes and the waist. It was impressive work, for just a few days. She heaved a sigh and placed her hands on her hips. “What do we need to know?”

Ned enjoyed a sigh himself, struck with overwhelming sympathy for those poor, poor Knights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned may be pissed off about his parents rn but boye do the Frye twins cheer him up. Also that skir is comically huge and I LOVE IT.
> 
> Thanks to Chloe and Erika for betaing these chapters, I love them dearly and value the improvements they've made to my writing vvvv much
> 
> Next up: the Assassins and Ned go to a picnic and check on the Shroud


	10. At Her Majesty’s Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Picnics are had and Shrouds are checked. The Assassin is flustered and the Thief contemplates secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to warn all those sensitive to even minor descriptions of self harm to be advised that there is one instance of it in the latter third of this chapter. Readers are advised to peruse that section with caution.

Jacob prayed today’s picnic went better than last year’s ball. It probably would. For one, there were significantly less people in attendance, which meant less Templars. For two, there was no plot to kill the Queen.

He really shouldn’t add Wynert being in this carriage, coming with them to a picnic, to that list. He _knew_ he shouldn’t. But when did Jacob do what he should?

The four of them rode through the streets of London in a carriage on loan to them by Mrs. Disraeli. Evie had written to her to ask for one and she had been characteristically delighted, promising to lend them a carriage befitting of the party they were to be attending. Wynert had also offered to use his, but Jacob insisted on using the Disraeli’s one. Rich people’s carriages were surprisingly comfortable.

Evie and Greenie were sitting on the opposite side of the carriage to Wynert and Jacob, murmuring to each other in a language Jacob barely recognised. He’d taken up teaching her Hindi in case they’d ever get to India when they married. She’d picked it up just as quickly as she picked up Latin and French. The two were pressed together, mostly to keep Evie’s skirt in check and prevent it from consuming most of the carriage. 

It still ended up jammed against Jacob’s knees. Wynert, who had been saved from it’s advance, found that hilarious. At least one of them was enjoying themselves.

Jacob scooted across the seat to lean closer to Wynert, subtly angling his leg so they were joined at the knee. Wynert turned his head from where it was leaning against the window to look at Jacob, who momentarily forgot what he was thinking of upon catching the American’s expression. 

Serenity and gentle half smiles apparently render him speechless.

Clearing his throat and steeling himself, Jacob finally figured out what to say. “It’s not every day you ride through Westminster in such a nice carriage,” _Charming, Jacob._ “Do you…”

Wynert’s smile widened, showing some teeth and he exhaled sharply. “Yeah, Frye, I really like it,” he murmured back. He cast his eyes down for a second, before looking back up. Maybe he was just as nervous as Jacob was. “You two really delivered.”

For some reason, that made Jacob… unreasonably happy.

“I always wondered how fast this could go.” Jacob’s gaze darted out the window and a cheeky grin spread on his face. Evie, ever the rain on his parade, must have heard him because she dug her heel into his foot.

“Jacob, you’re _not_ racing through Westminster in Mrs. Disraeli’s carriage,” She hissed just as he turned his head to protest. In lieu of any appropriate argument, he stuck his tongue out at her.

She stuck out her tongue back at him.

“Are you sure you’re both twenty-one?” Wynert drawled. Jacob stuck his tongue out at him too. That had him laughing, and Jacob laughing with him. He felt something on his knee. Small and light and vaguely hand-like. The muscles in his stomach seized, for what reason Jacob didn’t want to ask.

_Oh. Oh no._

He wanted to cover Wynert’s hand with his own. He shouldn’t, but he wanted to. Instead, he leaned closer to him once again. “Evie, Sir Green and I have business to attend to but, um, when that’s done do you want to… take a walk with me? I meant to last time I was here, but never got around to it and the company—”

Wynert squeezed his knee to cut off his rambling. “You know what? Sure,” he murmured back.

The carriage slowed to a stop. A quick glance out the window confirmed that yes, they were outside Buckingham Palace. Jacob gestured toward the door, letting Greenie out first. Greenie opened the door and hopped onto the footpath, stepping aside to let Evie out after him. Wynert followed them, before pivoting and holding out his hand as if to help Jacob down the stairs.

Jacob, of course, found the gesture hilarious.

He decided to humour Wynert, taking his hand and accepting the help onto the footpath. “Sorry Wynert. If my handkerchief weren’t so bloody, I’d certainly drop it for you.

“That’s a shame. Then what excuse will I have to see you again?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

\---

The picnic was as slow and dull as a wet week. Jacob was barely paying attention to the conversation. All the Knights were of middle age and gentry and seemed as reluctant to talk to him as he was reluctant to talk to him. So instead he sat and spoke when it was polite or when it was asked of him, hoping he wasn’t the only one bored out of his mind.

Evie and Wynert pretending to be sweethearts was _hilarious_. They both looked so uncomfortable, and Evie’s hand kept gravitating toward Greenie. Although tooth achingly cute, she was breaking the rules of her own plan. Wynert wasn’t faring much better. His hands were folded in his lap and while he was physically close to Evie, his eyes were far away even when he paid attention to what was being said.

“Your Majesty,” Evie piped up as soon as the conversation lulled. The Queen looked at her with the same expectant look she gave everyone who addressed her. 

“Yes, Miss Frye?” The party seemed divided on whether they were interested in what Evie had to say or not. Some looked expectant or surprised that one of the quiet four was actively speaking to the Queen. The other half were barely hiding their disdain.

“If you’ll excuse us, Ma’am, My brother, Sir Green, Mister Wynert and I have business to attend to on the Palace grounds. Regarding last year’s events,”

“What business might you have?”

“We think someone might be looking for the artefact again. To repeat what happened.” Jacob chimed in. The Queen turned her attention to him and he tried not to shrivel under a piercing gaze.

She looked between them, considering the request. She then nodded, which Jacob supposed was all the dismissal they’d get. “Then by all means, go. I’d like to hear about the result.”

The four of them rose (Wynert just a little reluctantly) and bowed to the Queen, before Evie grabbed the little case she’d been carrying and made the executive decision and started off away from the party. Jacob followed her, hoping that they were indeed headed in the right direction. He hadn’t had the chance to take a proper look at a map to see where exactly Prince Albert put that hole in the ground. Knowing Evie, she probably had the night he was at the Alhambra.

_You really should be more prepared, dear._

_I blame no one but you for this, Roth._

There was a touch at his elbow that caught his attention. Wynert had gravitated closer to him in the ten yards they’d walked away from the picnic. “What happened last year?” he asked, looking skeptical about it. “What would the Queen be hiding under the Palace grounds that needs two of London’s most dangerous gang leaders to check on?”

 _An ancient piece of cloth that can heal all wounds and potentially let someone live forever?_ “That’s a bit of a well kept secret. A hundreds-of-years-old secret,”

“Who else knows enough about it to want to look for it?”

 _A worldwide organisation hell bent on ruling the world using artefacts just like it._ “That’s part of the secret,”

“That’s awfully annoying, Frye,” he grinned as if it wasn’t all that annoying, as if it was a puzzle or a lock for him to crack.

“For a busybody like you, Wynert, it must be,” that soured Wynert’s expression, but instead of hurt, his face read more like he was asking Jacob on his seriousness. 

They were coming up to the cluster of trees by the pond now. Jacob could see the little stone yard where the ball had taken place across the water. Good to know Evie knew where they were going. “If it’s such a big secret, why am I coming with you?” 

Jacob pushed a small branch away from his face. He was asking the same thing himself. “All you’ll see is a hole in the ground. Getting down there is the way we keep the secret.”

“Lots of stairs?”

“Stairs, a twenty foot slide, a ten foot climb, another ten foot drop,”

“That’s a well kept secret,”

“You have no idea.”

Trees around them had started to blacken, scorched and turned to charcoal. The fire must have gotten far. They stopped at the clearing made by last year’s explosion. There had been no real effort to clean up, judging by the felled trees and shredded wood littering the grass. There was, however, now a grate over the hole, held shut by a thick padlock. Jacob excused himself and surpassed Wynert, falling into step with Evie and henry.

“I suppose neither of you grabbed the key to that lock,” he said, already reaching into his pocket for his lock picks. He may be in a suit, but it pays to be prepared. Evie set the bag down and opened it, pulling her folded purple brocade coat from it. She also pulled the Inverness Jacob had made to declare him a Master Assassin from the bag. He took the coat and replaced his suit jacket with the heavy garment. Henry took his own white and gold coat from Evie, swapping it for the already-folded suit jacket.

“I only brought the chest key,” He said, pulling the rectangular key from a pocket. Evie, who had made quick work of removing her skirt for the britches underneath, crouched by the gate and got to work cracking the lock.

“One key—” she said, pulling the lock from the grate. “Is better than nothing,” the grate was pushed open and allowed to fall over it’s hinges with a great _clang_. “We need to be quick. Are you both ready?”

“Y’all are going down _there_?” Wynert asked, having come up behind the two male Assassins. Evie gave him a small, kind smile.

“I’m sorry Mister Wynert, you’ll have to stay above ground until we’re back.”

“It’s a secret, I know,” he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged in dismissal. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll wait right here and make sure no one steals your clothes.”

“We’ll return soon, Mister Wynert.” Greenie said before he jumped into the hole disappeared down the stairs. Evie disappeared after him. Jacob, stalling at the edge of the hole, grinned at the American.

“If you get in trouble, we’ll know. We’ll come and help you.” Wynert smirked back at him.

“Get outta here, Frye.” he said, and Jacob jumped down onto the stairs as well.

\---

The crypt, thankfully, was undisturbed. It was still dark and dusty, so much so that Jacob had to rely on his Eagle Vision to see.

In the grey-washed crypt, Jacob saw the burned down candles and the altar like chest in the rounded out sanctuary. The chest, as far as he could see, was still locked. Starrick’s body had been moved a while ago, but the feel of him, of that final battle, weighed on the room. He watched Evie’s blue silhouette moving toward the chest. She took the key from Greenie’s outstretched hand. The two of them rounded the chest, and as they did, the candles all flickered to life.

Jacob let colour return to his vision as light flooded the crypt.

“Now that’s not something you see every day,” Jacob quipped, rather impressed with the display. However the candles managed that was a mystery. “Was that the chest or was Prince Albert able to light multiple candles at once?”

“Whoever caused it, they seem to have a flair for the dramatic.” Greenie said, sounding equally as impressed.

“And it certainly makes our lives much easier.” Evie told them, eyes fading from cloudy grey back to blue. She inserted the key into the little dugout in the chest. The square panel that held the shroud popped up like a jack-in-the-box. Greenie tensely pushed it open. There was an air of expectation around them, like they were scared it would be empty. Jacob had to admit he was scared of that too. When it fell back as open as it could go, they both slumped in relief.

“Is it still there?” Jacob had to stand on his toes to try and see over the panel at this distance. Even though couldn’t catch the slightest flash of gold, he could still feel that buzz in the air. A calm buzz, like that time he raided an opium den and spent way too long inside it. It settled underneath his skin and warmed him, a promise of relief from even the slightest pain or injury. It was an odd sensation, but not an altogether unpleasant one.

Despite his earlier relief, Greenie looked unconvinced. “We should test it. To make sure it’s genuine,” he looked up at Jacob and Evie, who shared a look of mild terror.

“We really shouldn’t,” Jacob warned.

“Jaya we can’t,” Evie said at the same time.

Greenie raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t mean to wear it. Here,” he drew one of his throwing knives from his coat and dragged it along the side of his hand. A red line of blood welled in its place. Evie grabbed his uninjured hand, but his free one was already reaching for the Shroud. He grabbed it and there was a faint golden glow. He pulled his hand away and held it up for them to see.

There was a terseness between the three. The demonstration didn’t have the effect Henry wanted it to. “At least we know it’s real,” Jacob said. Evie didn’t look so pleased.

“We shouldn’t use it. Not even for that purpose,”

Greenie was silent for a while. So were Evie and Jacob.

Evie broke the silence first. “What will we tell the Council?” she asked after what could be a few minutes. She pushed the panel down onto the shroud. Jacob wasn’t really sure what the Council wanted to hear.

“We should tell them about all of last year. The Shroud, killing the Templars and the Piece of Eden flowers.” he suggested. She pushed her lips together and nodded, rounding the chest again.

“And how we know nothing about what it does?” They really didn’t. Alec had taken a look at it and was stumped after just a single day. Greenie said he didn’t know anyone who specialises in the Pieces, so that angle was moot. Wynert hadn’t worked it out either. If he had, he’d probably tell Jacob all about it.

“We take it to them. See if they can decipher it,”

“George will call us stupid for having it,”

“Does he ever do anything else?”

The Twins shared a devilish look, but were interrupted by Greenie. “You two are going to Crawley?”

“Not until Summer,” Evie told him, walking away from the chest and toward the exit. “You can come, if you’d like,”

“You could tell them about the Indian Brotherhood,” Jacob suggested, though he knew he wouldn’t be taken up on it.

Greenie certainly seemed to consider it, but remained looking unconvinced. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Well you have until June to make up your mind.” Jacob clapped him on the shoulder and went to join Evie under the pillars holding up the second floor.

“We should be going. Mister Wynert is starting to look a little bored.” She said, head tilted back to look.

Jacob couldn’t help his little grin. “He’ll get over it,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the typing of this chapter, I may have squinted at several in-game pictures of Henry’s coat and yelled “Where’s the closure, Ubisoft?!” I could not find any. I’m conjecturing hooks and eyes.
> 
> Is magic candles unrealistic? Yes. Am I going to use them for dramatic effect anyway? Also yes.
> 
> Thanks to Erika and Chloe for their Beta and suggestions
> 
> Next up: Ned thinks dancing is a Bad Idea(TM)


	11. May Day (I’m Going Down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the Thief learns to dance around a maypole, the Assassin is a scoundrel and the two converse over whiskey

“You’ve _never_ danced a maypole before?” Frye asked Ned as they walked down a street that ran through St. James Park. Dame Frye had offered to drive Ned home, but he insisted on walking with her brother.

He shrugged at the question. It never happened where he lived in New York and it never occurred to him to Join in when they’d been set up around London. “No, Frye. I tend to have better things to do on May first,”

There was a lazy, fun-poking grin thrown at him. “What could possibly be better than a maypole?”

“I don’t know Frye, running a smuggling business?” despite the harshness of his words, he gravitated toward the man and bumped his shoulder into his arm. “One dance. That’s it,”

“What else do you have to do today?” Frye sounded almost pouty, like he was disappointed.

“Reading A Tale of Two Cities again? Maybe War and Peace?” he _felt_ Frye rolling his eyes.

“You could do so many more interesting things,” Frye held his hands out to visibly count on his fingers. “Watching a carriage race, a triathlon, going to a fight club—”

“Dancing around a maypole with you?”

“Now you’ve got it!”

Ned heaved a long suffering sigh. Frye was so insistent. It wasn’t that Ned didn’t want to dance with him. He just didn’t want a repeat of the fight club incident three weeks ago. He couldn’t be attracted to Frye and have it end badly. But with the way Frye had been acting lately, was he really any less attracted to Ned than Ned was to him? He knew he couldn’t do that to himself.

Having said that, he realised his next words were a completely senseless decision.

“You get one dance,” He restated, holding a stern finger up at Frye. “If you agree to come back home and, uh, have a drink with me,” He felt his cheeks heating and his fingers getting twitchy. _Shit, did I just ask that?_

Frye seemed to be in the same state of disbelief. He stared straight ahead for a little while and his cheeks seemed a little pinker than before. Ned mentally kicked himself, convinced he’d overstepped. He geared himself for rejection when Frye said “I don’t see why not,”

And that was that.

“Did you do this sort of thing a lot in Crawley?” Ned asked after passing a group of musicians playing near a bench. “Dance maypoles on May first?”

“‘Course we did,” Frye was smiling wryly at something. “Evie got crowned May Queen in ‘Sixty-three. The other village girls were livid.”

“Your sister? Queen?”

“She was just as confused as you are. Father and I thought it was hilarious.”

Ned could picture the wreath of flowers and the poor woman’s uncomfortable face.

The two of them rounded a corner, where in the centre of a flower field stood a tall pole with ribbons dangling from a ring on it’s top. 

There was no way Ned was dancing around that.

Frye must have noticed him freezing up because he felt a large, warm hand closing over his own. Frye looked down at him and smiled, soft and genuine. “The dance is easy. C’mon, I’ll show you,” He stepped toward the crowd gathered around the maypole, mostly composed of richly dressed men and women who didn’t seem to mind that they were holding hands. Two grown men. Holding hands. 

Why was _Ned_ making a big deal out of it?

He couldn’t find a good enough answer, so he curled his fingers over Frye’s hand and let the feeling of warmth fill him up. After all, it didn’t seem like anyone cared.

They came to a stop near the front of the crowd, where Ned could see the entire dance. Either Frye had a different idea about what ‘easy’ looked like, or it was much simpler than it looked. The dancers wove around each other in lines, looping their ribbons overhead and called out. The music slowed and they grouped in fours. They spun around their joined hands one way, then the other, and separated again.

“I promise it’s easier than it looks.” Frye clarified, clapping along with the crowd on his hip. He wasn’t paying Ned much attention but he just seemed…so happy. Ned supposed this sort of thing held a lot of good memories for him. The dancers, having barely enough ribbon to get over each other’s heads, turned and danced in the opposite direction to start undoing the braid around the pole.

Okay, it probably wasn’t _that_ hard. And if Frye, the six-foot-something gang boss who carried five ways to kill a man on his person at any given time, would skip around a maypole, so could Ned.

The music slowed to a stop, the crowd cheered and the dancers melted into it. There wasn’t time for comment as the music started up again. Frye tugged on Ned’s hand, leading him toward the maypole. He let himself be led, taking the ribbon that was handed to him. He took a few steps back and released Frye’s hand. A look was exchanged between them, a soft look Ned thought could be longing. It tumbled in his mind and made him think of days like this in future. Maybe that wasn’t so bad. Maybe he could wish for things like that with Frye. His hand suddenly felt very empty.

They took a few more steps back and the music sped up.

The dance really was just a sequence of weaving between each other. Every second dancer had taken a step toward the maypole and turned to their right. Ned assumed he was to turn to his right. There was a wordless cry and they began to dance. He took a left to weave around the person coming toward him, then a right. He found that the more he weaved and eventually started calling out, the more he enjoyed himself. It made him feel like a little kid again. He really loved it. 

The music changed and Ned watched dancers group off in fours. He hurried to join a group of three people he didn’t know. They rested their hands on each other’s and slowly spun around them. They dropped hands, swapped them, and turned the other way before going their separate ways and taking to weaving again.

After a few minutes of that, Ned ended up where he started, next to Frye. The two of them linked arms and spun around where they were joined.

“What do you think?” Frye asked, face pleasantly flushed. He looked a little bit like he was glowing. Maybe that was just Ned.

“I love it,” Ned admitted, just a little breathless. His eyes darted to Frye's lips. His plump bottom lip reddened as if it had been bitten. God, Ned could kiss him.

The music changed, the two of them separated and the weaving started again. That interaction was…dangerous.

The ins and outs of the dance had pulled the group closer to the pole until it was impractical to dance anymore. The ribbons had braided down the length of the pole that was gathered in a knot at the bottom of the colourful net. They stepped away from the pole and Ned felt Frye’s calloused hand grabbing his. They locked eyes and Ned went very still. 

Frye chuckled deeply and released Ned’s hand. The Brit backed away and disappeared into the crowd. 

_That Mother. Fucker._

Ned decided to humour him, following him into the crowd. He brushed past a few people, murmuring several apologies. Upon reaching the end of the crowd, he broke off and took a few steps onto the grass. There wasn’t much but flower bushes and trees and meandering people. None of them were Frye.

Ned was about to walk back into the crowd when someone grabbed him around the waist. 

“Gotcha!” Frye declared, lifting Ned up and spinning him around. Ned kicked his feet at the air, laughing loudly before he could stop himself. 

“Frye, put me down or—” Ned exclaimed, but was cut off by a sudden change in altitude. Frye had decided to tip over and send both of them crashing to the ground. He used the momentum to roll the two of them over so that he was holding himself over Ned, the only distance between them the length between Frye’s shoulder to his elbow.

Ned thought his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. He stared into the other man’s eyes—those bright hazel eyes wide with an emotion Ned couldn’t place—and felt nothing but awe and fear and pure joy. 

“Or what?” Frye whispered. It was sultry and low and Ned would be lying if he said his breathing remained steady. 

He really had no idea what to threaten him with. “Or I’ll uh- I’ll uh…” he stammered, only half hearing himself. Frye really had to get off him. “I’ll break into your train and steal every hat you own,”

That broke the spell Frye seemed to be under. He broke out into a wide smile, eyes wrinkling at the corners. The breathy laugh that rumbled from him did nothing to calm Ned’s racing heart or the pull he felt to him in this moment. Frye hefted himself up to sit on his heels, legs still tangled with Ned’s. “I think I’m a bit too attached to the things to let you have them.” He leaned back into a crouch and then stood, holding his hand out for Ned to take. “C’mon, we’ll take a cab to your house.,”

He took the offered hand and heaved himself off the ground. “I thought you wanted to take a walk? We’re in St. James Park, we may as well,”

Frye considered this for a moment and appeared satisfied with the outcome in his head. “You don’t live too far away, do you?”

Ned rolled his eyes and started toward the dirt road. “Come on, Frye,”

\---

Wynert had some of the best whiskey Jacob had ever tasted. It was like honey and smokey barrels and other things that left him wondering if this was what Wynert’s mouth would taste like if they kissed. Which they almost did. In front of a group of at least seventy five people. Twice.

Could he blame it on May Day?

He took another sip of whiskey and figured he’d worry about it later.

Wynert’s house had surprised him. He owned all four floors next to a strip of train tracks, which could only be described as a bold move. The two of them were on the third floor, in what Jacob figured was a sitting room. He was sitting on a cream coloured couch, leaning as daintily on the arm as he knew how. The room followed pretty much the same scheme. Light coloured upholstery on red toned wood. Wide windows let the sunlight in, giving Jacob the impression the room turned golden in the sunset.

“Doesn’t hearing trains go past your window at all bloody hours bother you?” He asked as Wynert reentered the room. 

He startled at the suddenness of the question and fixed Jacob with a dry look. “Doesn’t living on a train bother you?” he retorted, taking a seat in a chair opposite Jacob.

“Only when I’m trying to sleep and accidentally stab thieves in the thigh,” the Assassin slurped on his whiskey in accusation. The burning of it hit him right in the back of the throat, making his eyes well. He physically restrained his cough and placed his tumbler on the floor. 

Wynert scoffed and looked away in mock offence. “I had no idea you were asleep!” he tried. Jacob threw him an ‘are-you-kidding’ look. Wynert gave him the side eye, looking like he was trying to stifle a laugh. His lips were pressed together, tilted up at the corners and his shoulders shuddered. Jacob felt his own chest flutter with a laugh. He couldn’t hold it in, and doubled over with the strength of it.

“Bullshit!” He cried once he’d gotten over himself. Wynert shrugged.

“Who are you gonna tell?” He sipped at his drink, eyebrow raised. 

He had a point.

God Jacob wanted to kiss him, if only to taste the whiskey on him. Not because he liked him. Instead of that, he decided to change the subject. “I don’t suppose you have plans for this Summer?”

“Are you asking if I take a holiday?” it was Jacob’s turn to shrug. Did Wynert take holidays? “No, I don’t have Summer plans. Except for watching the Pound, in case it takes another spectacular dive.”

Ah yes, because Jacob almost crashed the British Pound. He picked up his Whiskey and took a very large sip.

“You don’t have some, I dunno, country house you escape to in June? Not even for a week?”

“No, Frye, I don’t. And even if I did, I wouldn’t let you in there unsupervised,” Jacob stuck his tongue out at Wynert just to hear him laugh again. “You sound like a man with Summer plans,” The American’s cheeks were flushed from the pure act of laughter, and his eyes were shining with a joyful light Jacob had never seen before. If only his Summer plans could involve making Wynert glow like that every day.

“I’m going back to Crawley with Evie. We have some family things to do,” Jacob downed the last of his whiskey. The whole truth would be a bit confronting, so a half truth would have to do.

“Well, try not to come back to London with more blood on your hands than you normally do,”

“My family isn’t that bad. Just… different,”

“They’d have to be, to raise a man like you,”

Jacob pressed a hand to his heart, pretending to be hurt. “Are you calling me odd?”

“You climb houses in less than thirty seconds and you started a gang because you were bored of your hometown. I’d call that odd,”

“We didn’t _start_ a gang. We reformed one and led it to victory,” _God I sound like the Earl of Cardigan._

“Because you were bored. It’s odd, but not a bad odd,” Wynert stared into the distance for a short while. “I like your odd, Frye.”

For some reason, that made Jacob’s heart swell. “I like your odd, too, Wynert,”

“You think the Rooks will be okay while the two of you are gone?” 

_Shit._ Jacob hadn’t thought of that part. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. The borough leaders are good at their jobs. They’ll work it out for themselves. We shouldn’t be gone for more than two weeks, anyway,” _provided the Council refrains from punishing us._

“Two weeks? Oh Frye, I’m not sure I can go that long without the possibility of you climbing through my damn window,” Wynert was joking. Jacob knew it was a Joke. That didn’t stop him from wishing it was genuine. 

“Oh I’m sure you’ll find some way to occupy your time.”

Wynert sipped knowingly on his whiskey from under raised eyebrows and said nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have just realised Ned’s house isn’t on the game map. That makes my claim for his house being near train tracks a bit illegitimate but work with me here, dear reader.
> 
> Three chapters in one day WOOO!
> 
> I hope y'all are having fun reading this story, and I'd like to hear any thoughts you have about it.
> 
> Next up: Ned is visited by someone he never thought he'd hear from again, and he definitely schemes.


	12. Family Owned Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the Thief meets someone he never thought he'd see again and the two of them scheme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because my street is going into a planned blackout for wire maintenance tomorrow, I won't have any internet. I'll post chapters 12 and 13 today and then chapter 14 when the power returns tomorrow. Then we're back to our regularly scheduled programming next week

May Day was two days ago. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

He _tried_ to stop thinking about warm, rough hands holding his, about how close Frye’s face was and how they _could_ have kissed. Or _should_ have kissed. He couldn’t stop thinking about how fun it was to make Frye laugh, and how easily he made Ned laugh. And _God,_ his smell. He’d washed the Thameswater out of him and become this alluring mix of copper and gunpowder and leather and cheap soap. All horrible scents taken separately, but they way they came together on Frye was just so _good_. 

And no one had to know Ned couldn’t sleep thinking about it that night. Or the next night, for that matter.

In short, he was screwed.

At the very least, he managed to get work done. He finished masking his income to keep the police out of his less-than-legally-obtained funds. Come eleven o’clock, he’d run through the last of his tasks, and resolved to brush up on his Russian just for something to do. He picked up a book and sat himself on one of his office’s lounges to catch the breeze of an open window. 

It was warm, sue him.

He’d barely gotten halfway down the first page when someone knocked at his door. He rolled his eyes and shut the book over his finger. “Come in,” 

The lock clicked and Julie-Anne popped her head through the opened door. “Mister Wynert, Mister Wynn is here to see you,”

“Shit,” he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He really couldn’t deal with his parents right now. “Tell him I’m busy. I don’t have time for unscheduled visits,”

“Not even your own brother?” came a voice in the familiar style of home, or at least something similar. It sounded like a New Yorker. His brother was still in America, playing around in Congress and having a wife, wasn’t he? _There’s no way that’s Eddie._ Ned and Julie exchanged bemused looks, and he placed his book on the table. He crossed the room to open the door wider.

Sure enough, behind Julie Anne stood Eddie in the flesh, hands casually tucked into his pockets and a warm half-smile on his face. He didn’t look much changed over the years. Handsome face, wrinkle-less and unobscured by brown hair that had always been much lighter than Ned’s. He even had that stupid little wave to the side of his head. Ever the more presentable of the two of them, his suit was immaculate. He’d probably had it pressed. All in all, he was just like Ned remembered him.

Ned flicked his eyed skyward and gestured for Eddie to come in. “Brother or not, who says I have time for you? I’m a busy man,”

Eddie snorted and came up behind Julie. “Why else would you be letting me in?”

“Maybe for less benevolent reasons that you expect. Julie, do us a favour and knock on the door when Mister Wynn has to leave,”

“Of course, Mister Wynert,” Julie said, skirting around Eddie to sit back at her desk. Eddie stepped into the room and closed the door behind him

“This is a really nice office,” He declared, taking leisurely, appreciative glances around the room.

Ned shrugged and made for his desk. “Thank you, I stole most of it,” 

“I won’t tell the Police,”

“Damn right you won’t,”

Eddie raised one hand in mock surrender, before returning it to his pocket. “So what has my little brother gotten up to in the nine years since I’ve seen him last?”

“Business, mostly,” Ned admitted, bracing his arms against the back of his chair. “It’s hard work being an honest thief, I’ve got taxes to evade.” 

That smirk he remembered was back. Eddie always smirked like that when Ned made a stupid joke, or had said something inappropriate or embarrassing and missed it, or wore the clothes he stole very, very wrong. “I don’t know many people who would call thievery honest work,”

Ned fixed him with a look of muted disbelief. “Have you _met_ our parents?”

“I believe I _did_ say something like ‘not many’,”

The two of them stared at each other rather seriously before Ned cracked and couldn’t keep from grinning. He tucked his chin into his chest and laughed. Eddie, he could hear, laughed with him.

Once he’d gotten over himself, he tilted his head back up and gave Eddie a once-over. “I take it Congress is going well for you,”

“Congress is a mess. They tried to impeach President Johnson last year,”

“Tried?”

“He kept it by one vote. The southerners still haven’t figured out they’re beaten. Memphis in sixty-six, there was a very bloody set of riots. That’s just Memphis. Even now they’re tense, trying to pretend the fourteenth amendment doesn’t exist,”

“Struggles of a government official.” Ned cast his eyes toward the desk, drumming his fingers on the back of his chair. Would Eddie really leave Congress just for a holiday in London? That wasn’t like the man Ned knew. “Mom and Dad didn’t bring Claire? Make it a family holiday?”

“No, Claire’s in Massachusetts with her husband. They thought she’d appreciate some time to settle in to, you know…being married,”

_Oh shit. Poor Claire._ She never wanted to get married, and used to announce that fact loudly to her brothers as a teenager. “That’s lovely of them, isn’t it?” he straightened up and folded his arms over his chest. 

Eddie was definitely here for _something_. He wasn’t sure what, but there was surely a reason. “What _are_ you doing here, Eddie? In my office, I mean. Not that I’m less than absolutely delighted to see you, but I generally don’t take friendly calls at work,”

Eddie shrugged, looking as sheepish as a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “You got me there, Ned. Mom and dad… how do I explain this?”

Ned couldn’t help but bristle. Both out of annoyance and fear. “They don’t know that I’m their—”

“No, they don’t know you’re their son,” Eddie waved him off, leaving him to breathe a sigh of relief. “They have this new business partner. I don’t know much about them but they’re working together on _something_ ,”

“Good for them. Is this meant to be important to me?”

“You’re handling the transport of their auctionable goods, aren’t you?”

_Oh no._ Questions like that normally meant someone was planning something. And that plan usually didn’t involve telling Ned about it. “Those _bastards_! They’re gonna smuggle shit in behind my back, aren’t they.” he slammed his fist on the table, mostly to emphasise his point. He scoffed and angrily uncapped his ink pot, yanking off the lid. “If they’d told me this in the first place then I’d be better equipped to not have them arrested by the British government,” He snatched a pen and dipped it into the ink before grabbing the closest blank paper he could and scrawling the beginnings of a letter on it.

_Dear Adam,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health, because I’m going to fucking kill you the next time I’m in America._

“Ned, you can’t mention this at all. They can’t know that I told you this. They don’t even know _I_ know this,”

Ned froze, pen poised above the page. “You’re kidding,”

“I don’t know who the business partner is, but they have Mom and Dad giving them this—” Eddie reached into his pocket and placed a white rock on the table. It looked like chalk, but streaked with gold. Like gold deposits had grown inside the rock. “I don’t know what it is or why they want it but they want lots of it,”

Ned put his pen back in the ink pot, picking up the rock to inspect. The closer he looked at it, he saw a more organised pattern over random streaks of gold. “I’ve seen this pattern before. On some flowers owned by a family up north.” he placed the rock back on the table. “It-it glowed golden and...” he sighed and reached up to muss his hair with his fingers. This was crazy, and he doubted Eddie would believe him. “My associate and I—” _God, associate is not the right word_ “—have been intercepting these letters and he’s been skittish about them, but I’ve brushed him off,”

“That sounds too particular to be coincidence. I’ve never seen this pattern before. To have it on two objects…”

“It sounds like a stretch.”

“It can’t be,”

“But we still don’t know what’s being made from those flowers to warrant questioning about the stuff Mom and Dad are bringing,”

“But if Mom and Dad are being asked to _smuggle_ it in—”

“—It can’t be good,” The two of them stared at each other for a good few seconds. This was crazy. There was no way these two things could be connected. But like Eddie said, this was too peculiar to be coincidence. He crumpled the half-started letter, pocketed the white rock and walked toward the door. “Do you want to see the flowers?”

“Wh-alright? You keep them here?”

Ned pulled the door open and turned to face his brother. “Where else do you want me to keep stolen goods?” Eddie shrugged, said nothing and walked out the door. Ned swung around it and pulled it shut.

Julie-Anne looked up at them from her desk, raising an eyebrow at the closed door. “Should I be rescheduling anything, Mister Wynert?” She suggested, picking up a pen and tapping it on the side of her ink pot. Ned waved her off as he walked toward the stairs.

“No, we’re just headed downstairs. D’you want to tag along?” 

“I- I don’t really know what we’re looking at but o-okay?” She stood up from her chair and followed him down the stairs. “What _are_ we looking at?”

Ned, in his excitement, was half jogging down to the second floor. “Remember those flowers I brought in after my trip to Halifax? And how I couldn’t work out what exactly they were? Eddie here’s got something that might be just like them,”

“It’s Edward in front of people!” Eddie scolded.

Julie ignored him. “And why is that exciting?” Her last word was punctuated by a rise in pitch, having almost bumped into Ned. He’d stopped and taken a second to peer around the corner of the stairwell. The second floor was just storage, things waiting to be shipped across the city. It was a bit of a labyrinth down there, and crates tended to find their way into nooks and crannies. Most times, they only resurfaced an hour before they were due to leave.

He rounded the corner and strode through the alley made by the stacks of crates and the wall, trailing his fingers along the labels attached to the wood. “Discovery, Julie-Anne. If we can get some flower samples and the bit of stone Edward took from Mom and Dad, we might find something between them and find something new.”

“...and make a profit?” she sounded disappointed, judgemental even. He cast her a bland look over his shoulder. _Good to know what you think of me._ He did want to make a profit, but this was also just _interesting_. He couldn’t pass up an opportunity to learn about a small part of the world. 

“No, not just for profit. These flowers _glow_ Julie, I want to find out how. Science these days is incredible. All the things we can do and discover and create will never cease to amaze me,” He came around another corner. Most of these crates were documents for sending to different firms, all of whom didn’t trust the British mail service. Another left and they'd be in the less-legal part of his filing system. 

“But you will still try to make a profit out of it,” Eddie reiterated, and Ned could _hear_ the smug knowing smirk on his face. _Damn him for knowing what I’m like._ He sighed in defeat. 

“How good of a thief would I be if I didn’t?” he took that left then a sharp right. _One two three four five six seven stacks from the corner, right against the wall._ He stopped in front of a shorter stack underneath a window. Sitting on the very top was an open crate loaded with half a dozen terra cotta pots, each containing one of the peculiar poinsettias. He stepped back to let the two of them inspect the crate’s contents for themselves.

Eddie reached in and lifted a pot from it. Holding it up to the light, he stared at the golden glow in awe. “This is…extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he murmured. “It’s actually glowing!”

“This vein pattern shouldn’t be physically possible,” Julie said, looking more bewildered than awed. “At least, not from what I’ve seen in gardening and such. I don’t think flowers work like this.” 

“So we’ve discovered something new, Julie! Or we’ve stolen a discovery. Sort of. Unless there’s writing about it somewhere,”

Eddie looked away from the plant to give Ned his trademarked pleading face.“Would you mind if I took a leaf or a petal? I’d like to compare it to examples in botanical books, maybe see if I can dig up some more details,”

Ned blinked away his surprise. He hadn’t thought about turning to botany for answers. He waved to Eddie dismissively. “Go ahead, if you want, but isn’t this supposed to be your holiday?”

“Research can be relaxing,”

“That it can,”

Julie scoffed and looked between the two of them. “You two are unbelievable. Who finds _research_ relaxing?”

“Us,” The brothers said in unison, even turning their heads at the same time. Eddie gave her a sheepish look. “We used to read with each other in the library at our parents’ estate as boys,”

She rolled her eyes, but it lacked any real exasperation. “I’ve heard. Ned used to talk about you quite a bit,”

Ned cleared his throat before Eddie could take her comment like a badge of honour “You do that, Edward. I’ll see if I can get a report drawn up without exposing this information to the public,”

“Don’t you think the public should have more information available to them?” she asked, wearing the biggest shit-eating grin Ned had ever seen, as if she’d called him out on something. He fixed her with a dry look.

“If this information gets out to the public, I’m sure our kind ‘benefactors’ will make it much harder for us to figure out what they’re up to.”” 

“Who else would want to know about it?”

_“...the shroud,” who said that again? “That’s a bit of a well kept secret. A_ _hundreds-of-years-old-secret.”_

_Frye._

“I can definitely think of someone. He knows more than he lets on, but it’ll be hell getting anything out of him,” He’d have to be cryptic and subtle himself if he expected Frye to tell him without clamming up. He dismissed the scheming for the time being and clapped Eddie on the shoulder. “You get to work on your research, I’ll see if I can wheedle something out of my associate. Julie, if you could get in contact with a botanist who’s capable of being discreet, that would be fantastic,” He released Eddie with a pat and pivoted on his heel, strutting down the aisle. “If you’ll both excuse me, I have work to do.”

He’d turned the corner before they could give a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned's parents may be trash, but at least he had his brother and sister.
> 
> Thanks to Erika and Chloe for betaing this chapter, and thanks to you for reading it!
> 
> Next up: Ned and Jacob go on another heist and Moments(tm) are had.


	13. School Boy Thievery (But With Extra Steps)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the next letter arrives, the Assassin sits in a chair and Heist Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright theydies and gentlethems, strap in because this is a long chapter. 
> 
> Maybe grab some tea at the halfway point

Wynert was rarely late for anything. He even arrived at the post office five minutes early when he was expecting a Christmas present. Jacob would know, he caught him there last winter.

So now that he was late to a meeting (one for which Jacob has gone through the trouble of climbing through his open office window), the Assassin took it upon himself to be a menace.He didn’t touch the bookshelves, no, that’d be suicide. He decided to inconvenience the thief by reorganising his desk. He shifted some papers a good eighth of an inch, moved the inkpot and pen to the left, moved some of the trinkets around and even closed the window. Now he sat in the desk chair, boots on the table, ankles crossed.

The sound of the lock working had Jacob holding his breath. He hadn’t mastered becoming virtually invisible when standing still like Evie had, but if he was quiet enough people usually walked right past him. The door swung open, letting an unassuming Wynert in to twirl around and shut it, lock it and head toward the music box in the room’s far corner. He opened the box, turned the key and left it to play its merry tinkling tune. Jacob watched him twirl around toward the central table, stopping to stare at the plate his whiskey decanter sat on, confused. Jacob had moved that too. A ninety degree turn and another eighth of an inch to the left. It was now or never if he wanted to scare him.

“You’re late.” He scolded menacingly from the desk. Seeing Wynert jump was a reward unto itself. Until he pulled a gun from his jacket and pointed it directly at Jacob, thumb hovering threateningly over the hammer. Jacob raised his hands in surrender and smiled in what he hoped was a disarming fashion. 

Wynert remained armed. “Frye,” he said, not lowering his gun from where it was aimed at Jacob’s face. “What are you doing in my chair?” eyebrows were raised and Jacob shrugged.

“It looked so comfortable, I couldn’t resist it,” he lowered his arms to rest them behind his head. “It is _very_ comfortable, where did you get it?”

“I stole it,” Wynert holstered the gun and walked toward the desk. “Off a manager in a bank who wanted to take my tie pin as collateral,” He came around the desk, grabbed onto the chair’s backrest and turned it with a grunt and the scraping of wood on wood. With one arm leaning on the back of the chair and his other on the armrest, Jacob was effectively pinned. Wynert leaned over him in a gesture that normally wouldn’t be at all intimidating. But Wynert was very close to him, close enough that they were breathing each other's air. Close enough that Jacob could smell his expensive soap. He breathed it in as deeply as he could without making it obvious. _God_ it was a nice smell. Wynert leaned in close enough to whisper in Jacob’s ear, to make his breath stutter and his back press further into the chair. “Now get out of my seat.” he whispered, low and deep and husky. Jacob’s breath shuddered again, both to take in the man’s scent and steel his nerves. Wynert released the chair and stepped out of the way, holding out an arm as if to direct him. Jacob lifted himself out of the seat and stepped away from the desk entirely.

_Hoe. Lee. Shit._

Wynert sat down and got to work reorganising his desk as if nothing happened. “Any news from your Rooks in India?” he all but chirped. Jacob half-perched on one of the windowsills, blinking back the metaphorical whiplash the sudden subject change gave him. He’d been told he looked ‘smouldering’ when he stood like that and hoped whatever that meant was appropriate for the moment that just occurred between the two of them.

He laughed a little breathlessly. This was so odd and he was so flustered. “We know they arrived and met with our friends. They haven't told us much beyond that.” Greenie had told him so yesterday. The brotherhood was grateful for the help but hadn’t found much in the way of leads. Just a broken flower that had been dropped in the place of their last known location. It had confused all parties involved. Jacob had asked Greenie to include a warning about anything operating under the names Carleton or Friskley in his return letter.

“And what, exactly, are they doing there?” the thief didn’t look up from whatever he was doing at his desk. He dipped his pen into the ink pot and got to writing something on a piece of paper.

Jacob wracked his brain for something that wasn’t _too_ outlandish. Because _looking for people with magical powers just like mine_ _because I don’t know they might either be dead or captured and both of those are bad options_ sounded like it wouldn’t go over well. “You know Sir Green,”

“We’ve been acquainted, yes,”

“Some of his family members have gone missing,” that had Wynert looking up, an expression of both concern and what might have been recognition on his face.

“Are you sure they want to be found?”

“We think they’ve been kidnapped, Wynert,” Silence. Wynert pressed his lips together and went back to work. Jacob gave a little sigh, deciding to salvage the conversation. “I’m assuming you called this meeting for a reason other than small talk?”

There was a second taken for Wynert to reach into his pocket, before he pulled an envelope and rose from his seat again. “I had this lifted off a mail train yesterday. Just after my brother was here. He’s offered to hit the books and read some botanical works, see if he can find anything close to our Halifax flowers,” He came up beside Jacob, leaned his shoulder on the wall and held the envelope out with two fingers. “While he does that, _we_ have a heist to do,”

Jacob took the letter and unfolded it. The contents were, as usual, mostly rubbish that he didn’t bother giving anything over a skim. It wasn’t until he got to the third paragraph that things got interesting.

 _Samples have been sent to the warehouse, ready for further testing. I trust_ _that subjects should not be  
hard to come by if they continue to make _ _themselves known. The shipment should arrive at the Lambeth  
shipping _ _company by the fifth of May._

Taking mental note of the address at the bottom, he folded the letter closed and tapped its edge on the side of his hand. What did they mean by subjects? Would they _actually_ try and kidnap innocent people off the street? He’d have to warn Evie, they could have Rooks patrol Lambeth neighborhoods just to be on the safe side. They’d have to raid Blighter protected factories and distilleries and—

“Frye, are you awake in there?” Wynert had his hand on Jacob’s shoulder, shaking him none-too-gently to get his attention.

“You want to steal the shipment?” he asked, looking down at the other man with all the enthusiasm he could muster. Yes, he was scared for the people of Lambeth, but thanks to this amazing, incredible man, he had an edge in finding out exactly what this flower could do.

Wynert wriggled his hand in a ‘more-or-less’ gesture. “Not all of it. Just a couple of samples. And where that shipment is going to end up, if we can find the ledger.”

Now they were on the same page. “So we know what they’re doing with it and where they’re operating?”

“Exactly,”

“When do we leave?” he supposed he sounded too excited, but an edge was an edge and time with Wynert was time with Wynert. Neither were things he wanted to waste.

“I was thinking now, actually.” Wynert looked like he felt the same. He took the letter from Jacob’s hand and went to put it on his desk. Jacob whipped around and pulled the window open, grabbing the top of the sill to vault out the gap.

“Well then,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll see you on the ground,” Without giving the thief time to respond, he threw himself out the window and free fell into a cart full of hay waiting for him in the courtyard.

\---

“Is this the place?” Jacob asked, counting the properties under his breath. Wynert nodded, coming to a stop by one of the chain fences. He perched on it, shoved his hands and waited, looking quite casual about the whole thing. 

“This is the one,” he affirmed, glancing over his shoulder. His gaze turned back to Jacob, looking him up and down in a way he doubted was appreciative. “God Frye, do you know how subtlety works?”

Jacob tried his damndest not to look offended. He wasn’t even wearing one of his more flamboyant outfits. Blue coat, dark blue britches and dark blue waistcoat. Sure, he was wearing three belts and the gauntlet he dubbed the Chimera, but he was an Assassin, they were a given. “There’s no need for subtlety in my line of work,”

“Because gang leaders just bash Police Officer’s heads in to escape the law?”

“Something like that,”

“Do you remember the plan?”

“I take out the guards most likely to see us, and then check every crate and box on the opposite side to you. Did _you_ remember it or did you need clarification?”

A dry look. “I was making sure you knew what you were doing. Don’t want you hurting yourself tryin’ to improvise too hard,”

Jacob pressed a hand to his chest like a dramatic school girl. “Thank you kindly for your concern, I feel so much safer with you worried about me,” despite the joke, it really did mean a lot that Wynert cared. It made him very warm in his chest. He dropped his hand and gently nudged the thief with his shoulder. “Will you be okay?”

There was a bright and cheeky look in Wynert’s eye when they met. “With you around, what could go wrong?”

Jacob collapsed his hat and stowed it in his coat before pulling his hood over his head. “Ready?” 

The American heaved a sigh and rose from the fence. “When you are.” The two of them strolled down the alleyway, and Jacob took the opportunity to let the colour wash from his vision. In the grey, he caught a handful of red silhouettes. There couldn’t be more than seven, maybe ten, in his field of view. There were two in direct line of the door. He nudged Wynert and pointed to the closer side of the entry. Wynert nodded and broke off, walking quickly to stick himself against the wall. Jacob ran for a few yards, hit the ground and slid to the other side, narrowly avoiding being seen as one of the guards turned around. 

He got up and crouched behind the door, peering over his shoulder and just into the warehouse. The one standing on the other side of the wall to Wynert would have to be the first to go. His mate leaning on the alarm bell presented a bit of a problem, however. Hopefully he’d stay put. Jacob took a deep breath and whistled, just long enough for guard number one to hear. The two guards jumped to alertness. _Shit_. 

“What was that?” one of them asked. Jacob pressed into the bricks and crossed his fingers. _Please only one of you investigate, please only one of you investigate._

“Terry, you better not be playin’ silly buggers,” the other one warned. His voice was further away, probably the one by the alarm.

“I’m not, I swear it,” Jacob could see not-Terry moving toward his mate. _Shit they're coming together._

“C’mon then,” the guards had met now and walked in a pair toward him. If he was going to improvise, now would be the time. Not-Terry came to clearing the ajar door, close enough for him to grab. He did, reaching out for his ankle like a biting snake. Before his victim had much time to react, he yanked on the leg and sent him plummeting to the ground. He darted up, taking a step to face the now startled other guard. He reached out again, quickly jabbing the heel of his hand into the other man’s neck. The guard choked and spluttered clutching at his momentarily useless vocal chords. Jacob grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around, wrapped an arm around his face and pulled him close to reduce the physical struggling. He counted to fifteen before taking a few steps back to lay the unconscious man on the ground. One look at the other guard told him that he probably wasn’t getting up too soon. Poor bugger must have hit his head too hard.

The world washed grey again and he caught a glimpse of blue slipping past the open door. Wynert was inside. He scanned that side of the warehouse. There was no one in the alcove Wynert was sneaking towards, so Jacob turned to his own side and snuck into the closest alcove. He had to physically stop at the sheer amount of small crates and boxes, of which only three were highlighted green as a possible target. _You’ve got to be kidding me._ The grey faded from his vision and he got to work on the first crate.

A quick flick of his wrist and a second to lever the box open with his hidden blade revealed that no, this wasn’t their contraband. They had agreed that the flowers were probably processed in the same way as gin or any other spirit, so they’d be looking for something in a bottle for larger or something of the sort. Not ink bottles, like this crate. Jacob reached in and grabbed one anyway, uncapping it and held it to his noise. He recoiled a bit at the distinct smell ink usually had. Putting the lid back on the bottle, he placed the bottle into the crate and reached for his next green box. He placed it down and pried it open. There was no such luck with that box either, for it was full of smaller boxes about which Jacob didn’t care. He closed it too, put it away and stepped toward the last one. It was levered open and peered into. That one was useless too. He pursed his lips and closed it, putting it back where it belonged before pivoting to leave the alcove.

Wynert was still at work looking through boxes on his side, so Jacob slipped around the shelf and into the next alcove, which apparently just contained more guards. Catching the first sign of red silhouette, he ducked behind a conveniently placed barrel and cursed himself for not realising they were there. 

“When did it get here?” one of them asked. Jacob could smell the cigar smoke from here. They weren’t likely to move any time soon, then.

“When did what get here?” a second asked. A gruff, female voice.

“The Friskley shipment, you dolt,” the first voice replied. _Bingo._ There was the flipping of paper and some murmuring. _And that would be the ledger, I presume._

“It got here half an hour ago, hasn’t been filed yet,” a third, also female voice.

The more masculine of the three sighed. “Someone ought to. I ‘eard they paid top dollar for speed, and having it layin’ around here don’t sound too speedy,” 

“And you’re gonna put it away, are you?”

“If you’d tell me where to bloody put it,”

There was a curse from across the warehouse and metal clattering against itself before silence. _Who was that?_

“What on God’s good Earth—”

There was a resigned sigh. “I’d better take a look,” voice number three said. Jacob darted behind the shelf again, waiting for the woman’s footsteps to disappear. He counted a few more seconds to confirm the shuffling of feet was just that, before darting out into the open and toward the blue silhouette crouched and shoulders deep in something. He vaulted over a crate and jumped for the top of the shelf. Pulling himself up, he swung his legs around the shelf’s top and landed softly on the ground next to Wynert.

The American jumped from his skin for the second time that morning, whipped his head around to look and pinched the bridge of his nose upon realising who it was. “Jesus, Frye. Who taught you to be so quiet?”

Jacob grinned, unable to resist himself. “My father,”

Wynert raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. “Find anything?”

“A shipment under the name Friskley arrived half an hour ago. They haven’t moved any of the items in the shipment yet, but from the conversation I heard, they’ll try to move it soon,”

“Shit. We’ve got to get to it before it goes away,” he frowned gears turning behind those intelligent eyes. “They’ll have the cart in a loading bay then,”

“I didn’t see any carts on the way in,” Jacob suggested, letting the grey take his vision. He couldn’t see any carts parked by the door they came in, but there was a cluster of red over to his right. He blinked the grey away to watch Wynert’s calculating face stare into the crate.

“We’ll have to go around the outside,” he threw a glance over his shoulder. “We came in the side door, so I’ll take a wild guess and say that open door behind me is the back loading bay.”

“We could split up and regroup when one of us finds the contraband? I saw the woman with the shipping ledger go up stairs a minute ago and I remember her face, I could steal the document?”

“No, it’s too dangerous. I dunno how many people are upstairs and starting another fight could be too loud. We’ll have to go together. Can you cover for me?”

Jacob didn’t hesitate. “Ready when you are,” Wynert gave him a small, sincere, corner-of-the-mouth smile and squeezed his hand. The touch was smooth and soft and _warm_ , but was gone as quickly as it arrived. Wynert snuck past Jacob to peer around the shelf. 

“It’s clear, c’mon,” the American said, so Jacob followed. He came up behind Wynert and the two of them darted into the open. The guards from earlier were still stationary and where he had left them. He and Wynert walked right past them, though Jacob stood between the two parties to keep an eye on their movement until he was out of eyeshot.

They walked right past empty alcoves full of paraphernalia on their advance to the back door. Jacob took the opportunity to grey out his vision and count the silhouettes. Five people milling around the golden cart with a haystack conveniently placed to one side. He sincerely hoped this was the right one to save him the trouble and tedium of knocking all five people out. They came to the door as his vision returned to normal and pressed into the wall beside it, waiting for an opening to move. Jacob pointed to the haystack and hoped Wynert got the idea. There was a nod from the thief and Jacob darted out toward the pile.

The worst part about haystacks was the smell. One had to have used one’s Eagle Vision for any amount of time beforehand and wait until it wore off to be able to see while inside of one. This particular ability, while useful for heightening one’s perception and hearing, it also improved one’s smell. Usually Jacob could ignore the new smells when in that sense-heightened state, but in a haystack it was _everywhere_. Sometimes he swore he could smell it on him for days afterwards. 

But now he had to ignore the hay smell and focus. Looking back to the door, he saw Wynert still behind it, waiting for Jacob’s opening. There were three people around the far side of the cart that could miss him if he was quick. The two on this side, however… Jacob breathed in and whistled, just loud enough for the one worker by the back of the cart to hear him. They looked at the haystack, hesitated for a second, then stalked toward it. They stopped a good three paces away, leaning this way and that to see around the hay. 

“Harris this isn’t funny,” they scolded, sounding more exasperated than confused. Jacob didn’t try to suppress the cheeky grin that spread across his face. “Harris? Harris get out of there,” one step, two steps, three steps. They were right up against it now, one hand resting on the little fence that held in the hay.

Jacob cleared his throat, making it as low and scratchy as he could. “Mate, I think I’m stuck, you’re goin’ t’have’ta come get me,” 

“What? Harris is that you?” they sounded entirely unconvinced. _Helps to get the voice right, Jacob._ This was the time to make his move, before he was caught. He sprung from the hay, wrapped an arm around the worker’s waist and pulled them back into the haystack with him. 

As soon as they were in, he covered their mouth with a firm hand. “Be quiet, if you know what’s good for you,” he hissed into their ear. They strained and struggled, calling muffled protest. He pulled them closer to his chest in an attempt to quell their movement. “I’m not going to kill you,” that, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Their struggling increased at the word ‘kill’, enough that Jacob threw his head back in defeat. He pinched the worker’s nose shut, not even making it to the count of twelve before they were out cold. He rolled their body off him and turned his attention to his next target. A second worker who’d previously been on the cart itself, but must have noticed their colleague go missing. The worker looked around for a second, before striding toward the haystack. _This one’s good._

“Graham?” they hissed, going right for meaning over the little fence. “Graham get up, you’ll get the sack if they catch you in here again,”

Throwing subtlety to the wind, Jacob burst from the hay. He ignored the pain that bounced around his skull from colliding with the worker, grabbing their arm before they could stumble too far. He spun them and pressed the inside of his elbow over their nose and mouth. Thirteen seconds and they were out for the count. He grabbed them around the waist and pulled them into the hay with him. 

“Sorry boys, I’d stay but I’ve got a friend to meet with,” he whispered, arranging the two of them into a less compromising position for when they woke up. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a blue silhouette darting for the cart. He vaulted from the hay and followed Wynert climbing onto the vehicle with him. The thief was already leaning waist deep in a crate, the lid of it leaning precariously against the side. It was painted with several ‘fragile’ labels, and had hay poking out the top. “Anything?” he hissed, ansty to get out of there before the other three workers started asking questions. Wynert pulled himself from the crate and held out two bottles for Jacob to take. The Assassin took them and held them between the fingers of one hand. 

“A jackpot,” Wynert reached in to take two more, stowing them underneath his coat. He grinned from ear to ear. “We’ll come back for the rest sooner or later,”

Jacob loved the enthusiasm, but wasn’t too chuffed about the idea. “I think four should do us for the time being,” Wynert sighed and nodded, sliding the lid back into place. Jacob held out a hand for him to take. “Now let's go, before we’re caught,”

Wynert took his hand and he led them off the cart, past the haystack and toward a gap in the wall surrounding the loading bay, laughing all the while. They turned into the alley, ran past the warehouse, then another. It was only when Jacob realised he was about to run into a pile of wood left on the ground did he stop, turn to face Wynert and pull him closer. Wynert collided with him and bounced off his chest, but didn’t seem to mind the closeness. He reached up to push Jacob’s hood off his head. He stared up at Jacob and Jacob stared down at him. They shared grins and quiet laughter. Jacob didn’t know why he was laughing. Maybe because he felt like a school boy having just pulled off stealing sweets from the shop. 

He wondered if Wynert felt the same, or if their shared joy was something more profound.

He released Wynert’s hand to cup the smaller man’s cheek, rubbing his thumb along his cheekbone. Wynert closed his eyes and tilted his head, leaning into the touch. For all his rough edges and sarcasm and grumpiness Jacob knew he didn’t really mean, he was soft and so easy to just be around. Jacob wondered why he didn’t realise sooner.

The spell was broken when Wynert cleared his throat and guided Jacob’s hand from his face. Jacob knew he shouldn’t be disappointed. He was anyway.

“So, uh, my office? I’ll buy you some fried potatoes? Or ice cream if we can find some of that,” Wynert muttered. Jacob chuckled at his stumbling, finding it nothing but utterly endearing.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, long chapter is done! Also: who's excited for pining?
> 
> Thanks to Chloe for the betaing of this chapter, and you, for reading it!
> 
> Next up: Jacob makes a stupid decision


	14. Mayhem and Messes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the Assassin and his Rooks stir up some trouble in the name of the law and a bad decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I advise y'all to strap yourselves in once again, for we have another ten pager.

“Alright boys,” Jacob called, reigning the horses to a stop. Eight rooks had piled into the cart he was driving, all armed with various improvised weapons. “Sergeant Abberline has asked us to act as an anonymous tip to root out a weapons smuggling syndicate operating for the blighters,” there was a chorus of boos, to which Jacob had to laugh. “Luckily for us, we’re allowed to rough them up a little.”

He stowed his eagle-head cane under his arm and hopped out of the driver's seat, before twirling it absently in his hand. They’d come to a stop in front of a whitechapel weaving factory that had been rumoured as under Blighter protection. Freddie had told him they were receiving weapons in bales of fibre. They’d have to cut them open to use as any substantial proof. Freddie himself would be waiting for their runner, off on ‘rounds’. They’d gotten Ted to forgo the green blazer in order to keep the Rooks out of any legal proceedings.

“Mister Frye,” Damien began, coming up beside Jacob as he strolled across the courtyard. “What did you say about being able to spare a patrol?”

Jacob turned his head to look at the borough leader. He mentioned the need for extra patrols to Lydia, his Lambeth leader, two weeks ago after leaving Wynert’s office and half an hour ago to Damien. He hadn’t exactly elaborated on why, too busy trying to work out how to organise the shift logistically. “I’ve got Lydia’s Rooks patrolling the neighbourhood around…” he dug his hands into one of his pockets, feeling around for the small scrap of paper he copied that address onto. “This warehouse,” he pulled the paper from his pocket and held it out to Damien. “And greater Lambeth. Lydia’s told me that with these new patrols her borough is stretched a little thin, so we need to take from other boroughs to make numbers without disrupting her normal operations,”

Damien took the note and hastily unfolded it. “This is a shipping warehouse, isn’t it?” he held the paper out, reading it with a perplexed expression. “Why would we need to patrol around here,”

“I have a feeling it’s owner may kidnap citizens of London for something more sinister than cheap labour,”

There was a look of recognition on Damien’s face, before one of concern. “‘Course Jacob. When do you want them?”

“We can discuss it later, when we’re done here,” Jacob clapped Damien on the shoulder before turning to the Rooks behind him. They were just a few steps from the doors now. Behind the Rooks, a cart entered the courtyard, piled high with cloth-wrapped bales and driven by two women in red coats. “Rooks!” He cried, one arm leaning on his cane and the other held high above his head. “Who’s ready to make some _mischief_?”

There was a roar of agreement as the blighters in the cart noticed the Rooks were, in fact, there. Jacob backed into the door, grabbed the right side handle and hauled it open on it’s rails. Two Blighters who’d been standing on the other side of the door stared at the gang members as if baffled by their sudden appearance. Jacob rolled his eyes and hefted his cane. He swung it low to hit the closest one in the stomach. That was the Rooks’ cue, apparently, because Damien gave a wordless yell and charged at the door.

Jacob whipped out his gun and aimed it at the cart, purposefully missing the drivers, who were just now scrambling into action. He cackled, twirled the gun around his finger and holstered it before twirling himself and charging into the factory. He drew his cane’s sword and sliced at the first bale he saw. Heshen split like butter under a hot knife, fibre exploded from the slit, flying out in a miniature exodus from the pressure of being stuffed into a bag. He sheathed his cane sword and reached in, digging around in the fluff until his fingers brushed something solid. He grabbed at it and hauled it out, twirling it in his hand for everyone to see. 

“What have we here?” He asked theatrically. _Is the drama necessary? No. Is it fun? Yes._ he held the knife in his hand, one almost as large as the kukri strapped to his thigh. “Check the bales boys, someone’s being _naughty_ ,” he emphasised the last word by throwing the knife into the nearest wooden pillar. That had the worker screaming and cowering, most of them evacuating out the back door. One of the Rooks peeled off to chase them and act as crowd control, keeping them calm and out of any fighting. 

“Too bad you won’t be around long enough to do something about it,” one of the blighters declared. Behind him there was the sound of tearing fabric and metal objects hitting the stone floor. Jacob caught a flash of green on both of his sides. Two Rooks for five blighters. “Me and my friends here will make sure of that,” indeed, four of his mates flanked him, brandishing knives and brass knuckles. 

Jacob spared a look for Maggie on his left, with her bit of copper pipe resting on her shoulders, and a look to Felix on his right, brandishing a cricket bat with both hands. The two of them looked confident enough for him. “I wouldn’t count on that,”

Blighter number one stalked toward them, sneering as if it would make him more intimidating. Felix went to meet him, raising his bat to block the knife that was wung toward his head. He pulled the bat down sharply, pulling the Blighter with it to bounce his head off Felix’s knee.

Now that the first blows were dealt, it could become a brawl.

Jacob leapt for the group, swinging the beak of his cane’s head at one of the Blighters, hitting them directly in the thigh. They stumbled back in surprise, but he didn’t have time for a second blow. He blocked a knife coming for his head with his forearm, then jabbed his cane directly into his attacker’s abdomen. She doubled and he kicked, bringing his foot up and over to meet the side of her head. He ducked under Felix’s bat and sprung up with an uppercut on a third blighter. As this third one stumbled, he whipped around, watching for his next attacker. Maggie was taking her pipe around the back of number one’s head. Felix was sizing up a blighter woman and another two were hanging back in defensive poses. A third green coat had joined in the brawl, and Johnno was creeping around the side of the two, fists poised.

Felix’s opponent struck first. Jacob didn’t see the blow, too busy with the Blighter Johnno couldn’t take. He lunged for her, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward him. A punch to the stomach. That sent her stumbling, but Jacob pulled her back toward him. He drove his forehead into her face, blinking furiously to get rid of the teary blur his vision became. Using her momentum, he kicked her away and watched her slide across the floor. 

That seemed to be the last of them, giving Jacob a chance to lean on his cane and take a deep breath. “Should we tie them up?” Johnno asked, sounding rather timid about it. He was short and stocky and softly spoken. It surprised Jacob that he joined the Rooks at all, but he was invaluable to them as a brawler _and_ an accountant. 

Maggie, leaning on her pipe, laughed at the question. “We could tell Scotland Yard they were asleep when we found them?”

“I don’t think Freddie would believe us, somehow,” Jacob said, crouching to grab one of the Blighter’s arms. “We could try telling him that Felix sung them to sleep,”

“They bloody wish,” Felix said, folding his arms over his chest. He grinned anyway. “I only sing at parties,” He leaned down to grab the woman he’d knocked out, hefting her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

“The only thing putting them to sleep when Felix sings is a deep desire to not listen to him,” Maggie put in, dragging her man across the floor by his wrist. The three of them took their respective blighter to one of the wooden support pillars, far away from any of the weapons on the floor. Jacob pursed his lips and took a look over his shoulder. 

“We don’t happen to have any rope, do we?” he asked, already heavily doubting it. There was a bit of murmuring from the Rooks that told him no, they didn’t. 

“The bales do,” Johnno suggested, having already walked over to the one Jacob cut open. He drew his knife and sliced through a couple of the ropes before winding them over his elbow and throwing them to Jacob. Maggie and Felix were back with the rest of the blighters and they got added to the stack. “Should there have been more guards here? From upstairs,” 

“If there were, they either lost their bottle or haven’t heard us,” Felix refuted, sounding quite sure of himself. The clattering of metal on stone emphasised his point.

“Well then Felix, don’t give them too much of a reason to come back,” Maggie grabbed the ropes and knotted them into one continuous stretch. She handed one end to Jacob and the two of them walked a circuit around the unconscious gang members. 

He left her to tie a suitable knot to contain them, walking into the empty space between now stationary looms. “How’re those bales looking?” he called, scanning the factory floor. Most of the bales had piles of wool or cotton around them, accompanied by an assortment of guns, knives and knuckles.

“All’s well on this end, Mister Frye!” Damien replied, emerging from the depths of a dark corner. Fibre stuck to his clothes like cat hair, but he didn’t seem to mind. He twirled his knife absent and looked around for any bales that hadn’t been opened yet or didn’t have Rooks going through them yet.

“Oh would’ja lookit this?” Ted exclaimed from another part of the factory. He emerged from behind one of the looms holding a crate full of something that tinkled as they collided against each other. 

“Beer!” Maggie exclaimed, swarming Ted faster than wasps swarmed half eaten apples.

Felix looked less than pleased to be drinking random beer from a factory. “If it’s anything like that awful Big Bastard I’m pouring it in the Thames,” he grumbled, following Maggie in snatching a bottle from the crate.

Damien had also joined the swarm around poor Ted. “The Thames would be purer without Big Bastard in it,” he took the bottle offered to him and popped the cork to give it a good whiff. “Don’t smell too bad,” 

The remaining bottles were passed around the other five in the factory who had appeared from their work at the promise of free alcohol. The nine of them gathered in a circle. “Compared to Big Bastard, the Thames is a hot soapy bath,” Agatha, the fourth Rook to have taken part in the brawl, said.

Jacob held his bottle up in invitation. “To good fights, and knocking out Blighters,” he toasted. “And to agreeing Big Bastard ale is utter shite,” there was a wordless chorus of agreement and the hitting of ceramic bottles. Jacob uncorked his bottle and looked down at the liquid. It certainly smelled like sweets, that was for sure. But he couldn’t smell any hopps. Unless it was some type of wine in a beer bottle, he had to wonder how much alcohol was actually in the recipe.

It was thus that a very stupid idea was born. “I bet you all two shillings I can drink this in twenty seconds,”

“Five shillings, make it fifteen seconds,” Johnno offered. Jacob looked around the circle to see if anyone would back out. Everyone seemed excited by the idea. Maggie was even sifting through her wallet. 

He gestured to Johnno with the bottle. “You’re on,” he raised it to his lips, threw his head back and drank.

“One. two. Three…” came the collective count. Whatever he was drinking _tasted_ incredibly sweet. But there was none of that intense burn that came with most spirits. It tasted like a kind of spring sweetness, like the strawberry wine he and Evie stole from an Easter celebration once. “…Seven. Eight. Nine…” God there was a lot of it. Jacob drank and drank, gulping down as many mouthfuls as he could in his determination to be forty shillings richer. “…Twelve. Fourteen. _Fifteen."_

He slammed his head back down, taking a deep breath. The bottle was tipped upside down to prove that yes, he did drink _all_ of it. 

“You all owe me five shillings,” he held out his free hand expectantly. “C’mon then,” the Rooks, some impressed by his display, some not so enthused by losing a bet, all dug into their pockets to produce the coins. 

That was when he noticed something felt wrong.

All of a sudden, his vision washed grey. Not the usual cloudy grey of a London sky. This was a dark grey, a summer storm cloud looming over the horizon. The silhouettes of the people around him rapidly changed colour. Green to blue, blue to gold, gold to grey, grey to red before his vision righted itself again. His stomach became extremely unsettled, as if he were to vomit. He had about three seconds between that realisation and acid biting at his throat. He bent over and expelled both breakfast and lunch onto the factory floor.

“Mister Frye!” two or three voices said in union. Hands grabbed under his arms to hold him upright. His head was much too light and coloured swimmers appeared in his vision. His ears rang and the sounds of the Rooks became very distant.

“Evie—” he managed to murmur before weakness consumed him.

\---

“Jacob? Jacob are you alright?” Evie was asking. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to tell she was sitting at the end of her bed. He could hear the concerned mother hen in her voice and felt it in the softness at his back. 

“Mmmdon’t chug beer that doesn’t taste like beer,” he murmured, having a crack at opening his eyes. They felt gummy and everything was much too bright, but he slowly blinked that away. “What time is it?” he pushed himself onto his elbow, scrunching his eyes tight against the throbbing pain in his head. _What was in that bottle?_

“What beer were you chugging?” what beer _had_ they been drinking? He didn’t look at the label, had been too busy coming up with a stupid plan to get a few shillings out of everyone. 

“Dunno. I didn’t see it. You’d have to ask Damien, or Agatha. They were paying attention,” he hoped everything went alright while he was out for the count. He finally got his eyes open and pushed himself into a sitting position. Evie’s train car was flooded with light from her window, soft and cheerful like the morning. “What time is it? What-what _day_ is it? Is it still May eighteenth?” if it was, it certainly didn’t look like it. They pulled that heist in the late morning, so the room definitely should not be filled with ten-am light.

Evie held out a glass of water for him. “It’s May twenty-first, Jacob.” _Shit it’s Friday already?_ He took the glass and downed it all in one swig.

“Freddie’s going to kill me,”

“I’ve already spoken to Sergeant Abberline. He wanted me to thank you,”

“Did Damien ask about the patrols again?”

“He did, but I didn’t know what to tell him,”

“What _did_ you tell him?”

“That I’d get back to him. I wanted to wait until you woke up to work out the logistics properly,”

“We need to mention it to the other borough leaders. Get them all in a meeting,”

“If you can talk to Horace, Connor and Maude I can talk to Bea and Carmen. Organise a meeting for Monday,”

“Monday? Why not tomorrow?”

Evie took the glass and poured him another one from the jug she picked up off the floor. “Because you, Jacob Frye, are going to rest. Get some darning done, read a book, but rest,” She handed him the glass before getting up and walking toward the door. “I have an errand to run but I’ll be back in half an hour,”

Jacob would protest, he really would, but his head still throbbed and he doubted whether he _could_ do anything other than read or darn or sleep more. He relinquished to his sister and laid back on the bed. “Be safe Evie,” She smiled at him before vanishing out the door and onto the tracks.

Jacob had no idea what to do himself for that thirty minutes. He _could_ do any of the things Evie told him to do, if he had the energy to get his things from his train car. He thought about getting off Evie’s bed, he even tried rolling onto the floor, which only became this awkward wriggling around on the mattress. So he hit his head against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling with a death glare to destroy gods.

“Do I need to call an exorcist?”

Startled, Jacob sprung into a sitting position. He directed his glare to the American standing in the doorway, who had the good sense to look properly scared. He blanched white and took half a step back, as if it would help him. Jacob lowered his gaze and scrubbed at his face with a hand. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Gruesome stuff, that is,” He muttered, forcing a weak smile onto his face. He felt like his head was about to explode and his legs had turned to jelly but that didn’t mean he couldn’t put his friend at ease.

Wynert’s fear was short lived but he certainly didn’t look eased. He looked Jacob up and down, recoiling just a little bit. “You look like shit, Frye,”

Jacob looked down at himself, plucking at his shirt. “Do I? I haven’t looked yet,” he was glad, at least, that he was still in his shirt and what definitely felt like pants. “I _have_ just woken up,”

“Word on the street is you drank some spoiled wine and threw your breakfast up,” he came into the train car, though hovered a few feet from Evie’s bed. There was a brown paper bag in his hand and Jacob for the life of him couldn’t tell if it was food. He hoped it was food. He hoped it was food for him, he was starving. His belly grumbled audibly in agreement. He pressed a hand to his stomach to try and quell the noise, and to suppress the hunger that began gnawing at him.

“Breakfast and lunch,” he admitted. That was probably why he was so hungry. He’d emptied his stomach when he drank that…whatever he was in that bottle, because it certainly wasn’t alcohol. He cast his eyes to the paper bag in Wynert’s hand once more.“I’m starving, is that food?”

Wynert looked down at the bag, suddenly remembering he was holding it. “Yeah, thought I’d bring you some food. Your sister said you’d been asleep for a could of days and I figured you’d be hungry,” He tossed the package to Jacob, who deftly caught it and unrolled the top. A doughy aroma hit his nose and he breathed it in deeply. _Food, thank God_. Peering into the bag, he saw a thick, baked pie wetting the paper with it’s steam. “It’s pigeon, I think. Don’t know how good it is, I bought it in Central London,”

Jacob pulled the pie from the bag and, caring not for the quality, took a very large bite. He definitely tasted the pigeon and did agree it wasn’t the most spectacular thing he’d ever tasted. But food was food and he was very hungry. He took another large bite, barely after scoffing down the first. “Jesus, Frye. Slow down you’ll choke.”

He swallowed what was in his mouth and set the pie down. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got the valiant Ned Wynert to save me,” Wynert made a little ‘hmm’ noise, but didn’t deny the claim. “You really are a lifesaver. When were you in Central London?”

“About…” He reached into his vest pocket and produced a watch. “Three minutes ago,”

 _Stupid question_ Jacob thought, but at least he knew where he was. “ _Why_ were you in Central London?”

Wynert rolled his eyes, but not at Jacob. “I was trying to get something substantial out of a minor politician. Had the least fun I’ve ever had at a gentlemen's club,” Jacob, always interested in hearing stories from Wynert’s day, patted the blanket near his legs. Wynert glanced back and forth between the bed and Jacob, before flicking his eyebrows up and taking a seat. Jacob wriggled back on the bed so they weren’t so close together. “He wants to open a contract but diverted into spiels every second sentence,”

Jacob nibbled demurely on his pie. “Sounds like another politician I knew,” he said, though not fondly. Minor politicians seem to be of the same breed. He froze when he caught Wynert’s dumbfounded expression. He wracked his brains for a better explanation than ‘I killed a pompous Earl because he was a Templar and plotting to kill the Prime Minister’. “I know a couple in passing?”

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“Telling,”

“Right,”

“Did you eventually get something out of him?”

Wynert sighed so heavily his shoulders heaved. “Eventually. I think I narrowly avoided inflicting grievous bodily harm,” he propped himself up on the mattress with one arm, tilting his head to look over his shoulder at Jacob. “I came here on a whim, mostly to see if you were awake yet,”

It was Jacob’s turn to raise an eyebrow this time. “What was the rest of your reason?”

The thief’s face broke into a cheeky grin. “I don’t have to pay to get on your train,”

“You sly devil,” Wynert’s only reaction was a slight shaking of his shoulders, which Jacob decided to interpret as a laugh.

“I solemnly swear it was mostly to see if you were awake. I figured if you were, I could use the respite of cheering you up,” Jacob stuttered for a moment, not entirely sure how to respond. He was certainly cheered, that’s for sure. It must have shown on his face, because Wynert looked away shortly after he said so. “I- that came out more gooey than I was aiming for,”

The Assassin reached out and placed a hand on Wynert’s shoulder. “Gooey or not, you certainly got the cheering part right,” he shoved the last of his pie into his mouth to save him from saying anything amazingly stupid. His stomach grumbled again and he swallowed, giving the Thief the best puppy-eyed look he could manage. “Do you have any more?”

Wynert hung his head, but couldn’t hide the grin still on his face. “I’ll buy you some more at the next station. _If_ ,” he reached over to poke Jacob in the nose. “You tell me something about these politicians you know in passing.

Jacob, utterly pinned between his grumbling stomach and the one man able to buy him food right now, kindly obliged him with the tale of how ex-Prime Minister Disraeli’s wife charmed her way into the hearts of thugs in London’s most dangerous pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I stay up late publishing this because I am a merciful god who provides for my readers? Should I stop losing sleep writing this damned fanfic? Do I love y'all too much to stop?
> 
> Yes to all of the above!
> 
> Big Bastard is one of the collectibles available in the game and Sean Hastings says its shit, so all my characters share his dislike of the product.
> 
> Thanks to Chloe for betaing and for advising me to add a Ned scene. I wasn't going to initially but I adore giving you all cavities before the rest of the tags come in and kick you in the face. 
> 
> Next up: Pure Fluff (Or Jacob asks Ned on an adventure and old friends are met.)


	15. Would I Join You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein invitations are made, old friends are met and The Assassins are scolded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make y'all aware of the fact that school has returned, so I'm going back to posting one chapter per week. I want to have this fic finished before Christmas so I don't have to wait until Christmas of 2021 to write a Christmas fic. Saying that, if I get more than one chapter written in a week, I promise I will get you more than one chapter updated.

Summer was fast approaching, and Ned was none-too-pleased about it. London never got as hot as New York did, but _God_ was it muggy. In the final weeks of May, he found himself taking off his jacket and vest and rolling up his sleeves when he wasn’t speaking to anyone. But the sticky air found a way to inconvenience him anyway. All the windows in his office were open wide to catch a breeze, and he’d been eyeing his fan all day. 

Whether or not the open windows were to catch something—someone—else was between him and only him 

So, come May twenty-fifth, his schedule was clear, he was just ahead on his paperwork and he’d shed his layers for comfort. Eddie had swung by last Thursday, announcing that his efforts in botanical research had proved fruitless, and if the Listers knew of their discovery, they certainly didn’t publish any of it. Ned had promised him that he would try and take a look himself and they could compare notes. Julie’s scientist hadn’t gotten back to them. The four bottles he stole from that shipment were sitting in a chest in his office, mostly because he had no idea what he should do with them. He went back to copy the date and place of delivery for those bottles on that shipping ledger; however, when he did, he couldn’t find a record of a ‘Friskley shipment’ on any of the documents in any of the offices he snuck into. He was officially stumped.

He decided to distance himself from the wall he’d hit by throwing his mind into work and hoping a solution would just dawn on him. Or that damned botanist would just send a letter. 

When he heard voices outside his door, he planted his pen in the ink pot, took off his glasses and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Did he have time for distractions? Yes. Did that necessarily mean he wanted them? No.

“…Need to be making appointments,” came the tail end of Jule-Anne’s sentence. A deeper, more drawling voice’s laugh met her. 

“…Come when…time,” the familiar voice cooed. Frye. Ned pressed on his eyes harder. _I really don’t need this right now._ He had to laugh at the irony of that thought. 

“…Busy…make one next time…what business…” he slipped his glasses back on and rose from his chair. Curiosity getting the better of him, he strode toward the door, but stopped short of opening it. From here, he could hear the conversation properly without interrupting them. 

“I wanted to ask him if he would join me on a holiday,” Frye sounded sligtly nervous. The kind of nervous you sounded when asking someone to a party with you. Ned leaned his shoulder on the door frame. _A holiday, huh?_ he thought. He had to admit, he liked the idea. Him and Frye sharing a trip to anywhere that didn’t have to do with Ned’s work. His hand gravitated toward the door handle. It could be like May Day. Happy and energetic and charged with… whatever that moment on the grass had been. Or that moment in the alley. Or the moment in his chair. 

They were having too many moments.

He forced his attention back to the conversation outside his office. “A holiday? Mister Frye, you spoil him. Where would you go?” where _would_ they go? Ned kind of wanted to show Frye Saint Petersburg. He hadn’t seen Russia in years, but it was too early in the year for that particular city. Maybe Italy or Switzerland, they were both great places for summertime travels.

“Crawley,” _Oh._ “I’m going to visit family and I want him to meet them, too,” _oh._ If Ned’s heart melted in that moment he’d most certainly deny it until his dying day. But he couldn’t deny how sweet the sentiment was. It made him think of lying in a field, watching the clouds, his head on Frye’s chest. Longing glances, Lazy kis—

_Okay, that’s enough of that._

He pushed down on the door handle and yanked it open, startling both Frye and Julie. “What are you two scheming?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest and scowling at them without much of the menace it’s supposed to have. They actually _looked_ like they were scheming, sharing guilty glances with very little subtlety.

“Nothing,” they said in unison. Ned’s scowl broke for a laugh. He uncrossed his arms and pushed the door open wider.

“Get in here, Frye,” he turned on his heel and stalked back to his desk. He perched on the front lip of it, hoping the light caught him attractively. Maybe he’d look more ‘pleasingly dishevelled’ than sweaty.

Frye’s starstruck look as he closed the door behind him told Ned that he’d achieved the former. 

He made a show of subtly adjusting one of his braces, before looking up and folding his arms over his chest again. “What’s your business, Frye?” he asked, though he toned down the curtness the statement usually held. He took the exasperated edge off it, leaving it sounding expectant, more than anything.

He saw Frye fiddling with the coat draped over his arm, watched him try and collect himself. _He looks so hopeless._ Ned couldn’t help but find it hopelessly endearing. “I uh- Evie and I, um- we- oh, fuck,” he ran a hand through his hair, which was surprisingly sans hat. The hand came to a rest at the back of his head. “Do you remember I mentioned going to see family on May Day?”

“Vaguely,” he had mentioned going back to sort something out. Ned had joked about missing him, but now he was sure that he actually _would_ miss him. 

“Well, um, I’ve decided that I want to bring you along. Or, I want you to come with us. I want you to meet my family,”

Ned was really touched. Frye’s question was so innocent and he was so eager for him to join them. He broke into a smile and slid off the lip of the desk. “I’d love to, Frye,”

Frye’s relieved look warmed him all the way up inside. “Thank you. I-I mean, I’m glad,”

Ned crossed the room and took Jacob’s free hand in both of his. He cast his eyes down, mostly from an inability to meet Frye’s gaze. He didn’t want to do something stupid quite just yet. “Thank you, for inviting me,”

Frye placed his hat on his head to gently raise Ned’s chin with two fingers. Ned met his gaze and all thoughts he may have had turned to mush. Looking directly into Frye’s eyes was like diving head first into a well of emotion. The joy of simple acts and something strong, but innocent in its intensity. But there was a fear there too, a fear of first things. This nervousness, like a foal taking its first, wobbly steps.

 _God_ he wanted to stay like this forever. 

Frye dropped Ned’s chin just as Ned released Frye’s hands. There was already a breathy laugh worming its way out of his chest in the aftermath of that moment. 

“Are we taking your train or do I have to pay for a ticket?” he shoved his hands into his pockets to have something to do with them. Frye ducked his head in a chuckle. A sound Ned wanted to hear more often.

“No, Wynert. We’re taking our train, But I have half a mind to charge you for the ride,”

Ned gave him a dry look. “And when do we leave?”

“The morning of June sixth. We’re planning to be back on the twentieth,” Two weeks. He could do that, with a little shuffling. Julie could take over for him, provided no hijinks ensue. And the Wynn shipment wasn’t until mid July. 

There was a knock on the door behind them. “Ned, if you turn him down I’m going to _punt_ you into the Thames!” Julie cried from behind the wood.

Ned flushed crimson. _Because you_ have _to ruin the moment, Julie._ He internally groaned. “Why are you listening!?”

\---

June sixth came far too quickly. Ned spent most of the interim panicking. He was going to meet Frye’s family. He was going to meet his _friend’s_ family. Friend? Was that even the right word? _Deep breath, Ned._ He clutched his suitcase harder than was strictly necessary. He was twenty-nine for fuck’s sake. Why was he more nervous than a seventeen-year-old?

A train’s whistle tooted from down the tracks, catching his attention. The Frye’s train—Bertha, as Miss MacBean insisted—was already slowing to a stop as she entered the station, brakes squealing against the friction. She was a magnificent beast, Bertha. Ned was kind of jealous.

She came to rest at the platform, engine hissing white steam. Ned stepped forward, hopping onto the joining platforms between Frye’s Car and the ‘pub’ car. He swung around, into the door and strolled further into the room.

He was greeted by the sight of the Frye Twins, standing close together and conversing about something Ned couldn’t fully hear. The two of them looked as if they had decided to match, and match they did. Both dressed in long coats of black and red, it appeared dramatic was their preferred tone for this trip. Frye was his usual artfully dishevelled self. Black Inverness with red collared lapels. A black vest, dark britches and two belts over a dark cummerbund. There was black strip tied around his upturned, and unbuttoned shirt collar that probably served little purpose, but surprisingly tied the outfit together. On his left lapel was a small brooch in the shape of a stylised triangle. He even leaned on an eagle-headed cane.

Dame Frye matched him by contrast. The yoke and sides of her coat were black, and she sported a little black patch of leather on her right shoulder. The chest of her outfit was a striking red, trimmed with two rows of matching coloured ruffle. Her sleeves were the same red, and her left sleeve even featured a little puff. Her bodice was black, and Ned counted _three_ belts over a red cummerbund. A silver watch hung from a button hole.

They looked like a right pair of vagrants.

“Who, exactly, have you two killed today?” He asked as a means of announcing himself. Their conversation halted and they both turned to look at him. Frye was delighted to see him. Dame Frye less so, giving him a welcoming, close lipped smile.

“Wynert!” Frye exclaimed, breaking off from his sister to come and wrap Ned in the tightest hug known to man, knocking the wind out of him. The embrace was fleeting, however, as Ned wriggled until Frye let him go. He liked his ribs uncrushed, thank you very much. That, and he wasn’t too pleased with Frye asking too many questions on the subject of why his chest was so squishy for being such a lithe man. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Ned was quiet, returning the greeting with a gentle expression and a pat on the shoulder. 

“Mister Wynert, it’s good to see you again,” Dame Frye said, though it sounded much more polite than warm. 

Ned removed his hand from Frye’s shoulder before gliding past him and toward his sister. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, too, Dame Frye,” He glanced out the window as the train jolted into movement. “I’ve been told I’ll be meeting your family and I have to say, I’m a little nervous,”

The Dame looked slightly perplexed at the word family, but quickly recovered. “Our extended family is very private. Don’t be too offended if you only meet a few of them,”

Ned shrugged. He didn’t really mind, though something about the apparent lack of communication between the twins on the topic of family caught his eye. “I don’t mind all that much. My main goal for this trip is seeing as much of Crawley as I can. From what I’ve heard it’s quite the spot,”

“I wouldn’t be too excited,” Frye put in, flopping onto the lounge. “It’s pretty but it is _very_ boring,”

Ned shot him a look. “Frye, with you around, I doubt I’ll ever find a dull moment,”

\---

The trip to Crawley itself had nary a dull moment. The three of them played cards and talked for most of it. When conversation petered off and the Twins wanted to talk amongst themselves, Ned excused himself for the pub car and watched the country fly past. 

He was glad to hear they would be lodging in the house the two of them occupied before their move to London. He didn’t think he ever wanted to stay in a pub ever again.

Their travel through Crawley’s streets was equally as pleasant as the train ride, full of sibling banter and little stories from their childhood. The two of them had been a little disoriented by the movement of the station, but figured out where they were meant to be going soon enough.

Upon arriving at their old house—Something more akin to a cottage than a house, small and quaint and nestled between others on the same street—Ned was less than pleased to see the stranger sitting on the little step that led to the door. He had his head down, a green hood pulled over it and had his hands folded in his lap. He looked like he was meditating over something.

Ned moved closer into Frye, tilting his head up to murmur into his ear. “Do you know him?”

Dame Frye confirmed his question before her brother could reply. “George!” she called with the enthusiasm of someone greeting a long lost friend. The man looked up at the sound of her voice, going so far as pushing the hood from his head. He stood and came to the edge of the sidewalk of the road they’d been walking down.

“Evie? Jacob?” He asked, taking the two of them in. He was old, much older than them. His hair was completely white and his face was creased in the same way many who had seen hard labour were. He wore a green coat with the same red lapels as Frye, covered in different belts. Around his waist was a thick leather belt with a large metal buckle embossed with the same triangle as Jacob’s brooch. On his left arm was a piece of plated armor, though for what purpose, Ned had no idea.

He was starting to see something of a theme that conflicted with what he’d been told.

“Did you miss us?” Frye asked, setting his suitcase and the flowerpot he’d been carrying down on the lip of the gutter. The two of them shook hands and George gave him a very dry look.

“I did miss you, only because of your spectacular vanishing act,” he scolded, releasing Frye’s hand. Dame Frye put her suitcase next to Frye’s, leaned in close to him and placed a kiss on his cheek. “The council missed you too, having failed to receive word of your plans for the last year-and-a-half,”

The Twins exchanged sheepish glances. “Our trip to London was…impromptu,” she explained, clasping her hands behind her back. George blinked away his shock.

“London?! You vagrants went to London? Against the council’s orders?”

“We did. And I think the _family_ will be glad to hear that Crawford is no longer a problem,” Frye jerked his head not so subtly in Ned’s direction. Ned had been standing a few feet away, listening to the conversation with great interest. What exactly was this ‘council’? What was Frye hiding with the grit-toothed correction, and why? George followed the motion and locked eyes with Ned. He obviously hadn’t realised the thief was present. There was something in his gaze that disappeared before Ned could place it.

He skirted past the Twins. “You haven’t introduced me to your friend,” he stopped just before Ned, offering a hand to shake. “And you are?”

Ned put his suitcase and took the hand, pouring as much politeness into his voice as humanly possible. “Ned Wynert. Sir and Dame Frye were kind enough to invite me on their trip,” he said, remembering to use Frye’s honorific this time. “You, sir?”

George shook his hand and regarded him with a great deal of suspicion. “George Westhouse. A friend of their late father’s,” He released Ned’s hand and turned back to the Frye Twins. “Sir? Dame? What trouble did you get yourselves into?”

Their sheepish looks intensified. _Whoops._

“Now might not be the time for explanations,” Dame Frye attempted.

“We’ll fill you in about all of last year another time, George. Right now, I think we all want to rest,” Frye recovered for her. He grabbed his suitcase as well as the pot and hurried toward the door to the house. Ned grabbed his own suitcase and brushed past the old man, half leaping onto the sidewalk and into the door. George watched them go, but didn’t attempt to stop them.

“It’s only four o’clock!”

“It’s a long ride from London,” Dame Frye was hot on Ned’s heels, leaving the door open for Frye. He took a few steps into the room, taking a look around. It was probably the size of a Central London flat, but was so much cozier. There was a stove and a small amount of cabinetry nestled in one corner, with a medium sized cauldron sitting next to the stove. The rest of the room was devoted to a sitting area, full of three worn armchairs arranged to face each other. The backmost wall had a bookshelf up against it, a chalk-covered blackboard taking up most of it and a wooden chest underneath the blackboard. Nestled in the corner there was a table on its side and a stack of chairs. Stairs started some two feet from the floor and led up to what Ned guessed was bedrooms.

Dame Frye was already on the stairs. “It’s not much to look at,” She admitted, stopping to turn around and gaze around appreciatively. “But most of our lives were in these walls,”

“In pure comfort, I think I prefer the train,” Frye said from behind him. The door shut and locked with a click. “But this house _is_ quite cozy,”

“I think it’s lovely,” Ned told them. Dame Frye beamed.

“Come, Mister Wynert. You can sleep in Father’s room,” Her voice grew muffled as she rounded the corner up the stairs. Desperately wanting to put his suitcase down, Ned followed her up them into a bare hallway punctuated by three doors. She stood in front of the one closest to the stairs, turning the knob and pushing the door open for him. “We cleaned it after he died, but if you find anything, don’t touch it,”

He nodded and entered the room, making a beeline for the unmade bed. He placed his suitcase down onto the mattress, sat next to it and laid back to sprawl on the bed. It was a big frame, built for two people in a room designed for one. He wondered what happened to their mother. There was a simple washtable across the room, a small armoire, one bedside table and that was it. 

He couldn’t help but replay the conversation with George in his head. There were so many questions that popped up from it. Who was the Council? Who was Crawford? Why weren’t the Twins supposed to go to London? What was Frye’s brooch meant to be, if the symbol was on George’s buckle too? Why the hell did they _really_ want the peculiar poinsettias? Did they know more about it than they let on?

Judging by the way George clammed up as soon as he noticed Ned outside, he’d have to be subtle if he wanted to investigate further.

When there was a knock on the doorframe, he simply said “I’m going to pretend that whole conversation outside didn’t happen,”

There was a breathy, masculine chuckle. “That’d be better,”

Ned sat up again, leaving his hat behind. He tangled his fingers in his too-long hair. “Your buddy George is delightful,”

“He probably copped a lot after we left. And I don’t think he was too happy without a proper goodbye,” Frye admitted, leaning his shoulder on the frame. He took up most of the doorway standing like that, even with his hat off and no coat to be seen.

“You weren’t supposed to come to London?”

He shrugged, but didn’t meet Ned’s eyes. “Family didn’t want us to. They were scared for us and for themselves,” he looked back up at Ned, sporting a secretive grin and a few teeth grabbing his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t be telling you this,”

Ned tried not to huff. Having all this information dangled in his face was infuriating, but he couldn’t get Frye in trouble for saying anything he wasn’t allowed to. “Alright, Frye, I won’t get you into trouble,” _However, no one said anything about a little snooping_ he thought. After all, he promised that he wouldn't touch anything he found, not that he wouldn't go looking

The man shifted from the doorway and took a few tentative steps into the room. “Could you…tell me about New York? I know it’s not exactly a fair trade but—”

“But you’ve told me all these bits of your childhood this afternoon,” Ned didn’t mind telling him about New York, didn’t mind talking about Eddie or Claire or those early years as a jewel thief. Just…not those personal parts of him. Not yet. “What do you wanna hear?”

“Do you have anyone other than your brother?”

“I’ve got my younger sister, Claire. She’s twenty-six. Eddie’s thirty four now, when I think about it,”

“And do you still talk to them?” Frye had taken a seat on the stool by the washtable, leaning forward with his hands clasped and arms resting on his knees.

“Not really. I only found out Claire was married when Eddie visited.” his hand gravitated to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck. He really should get back in touch with her. He just had to hope she’d finally come around to actually calling him by his name. “I feel bad for her. She never wanted to get married. Mom and Dad probably picked her husband. She probably doesn’t even like him,” there was a snicker from the Brit and Ned raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

“You say ‘mum’ so weirdly. And you drag out all your a’s. You make them so…round,”

Ned really wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It wasn’t offensive, but the gall of the comment allowed him to be at least pretend offended. “You got a problem with the way I talk?”

“No, I adore the way you talk. I just think the way you say ‘mum’ is odd,”

“You spell it with the letter U, don’t you?”

“How else would it be spelled?”

“Em-Oh-Em. Like how normal people spell it. Now can I get back to talking about my family?”

“Specifically a tale of shenanigans, if you please,”

What _was_ a funny story about the three of them? Most of his childhood stories were hard to make interesting to someone who didn’t grow up around the same people as he did. “Christmas of ‘Fifty-Five. We were in Rhode Island for a ball Mom and Dad were invited to. It was _cold_. So Eddie, Claire and I decided to go ice skating on a lake. No one fell in, thank God, but Eddie did get chased by a stag,”

“A _what_?”

“A stag! He had uh, business, in the trees—”

“Please don’t tell me he pissed on a deer,”

“He pissed on the deer,”

Frye burst out in laughter that shook his torso and threw his head back. Ned laughed at the memory of a terrified Eddie scampering across the ice, away from a very pissed off stag. “Did he get away in time?”

“No, actually. I think he got thrown a little. He’d barely tucked himself back into his pants when he came running out of the trees. He slipped and fell flat on his face!”

Frye leaned forward with his laugh, curling in on himself. “Dear _God,_ I’d never be able to unsee that,”

“And once in ‘Fifty-Eight, I’d just gotten to my parent’s house after a heist, climbed up a tree and into a window and…it was Claire’s room.” Frye hissed through his teeth, looking just as embarrassed as Ned remembered feeling. “She thought I was there to steal the new necklace _I’d_ bought for her fifteenth birthday,”

“That’s awkward,”

“She threw a lot of pillows at me,”

“Did they hurt?”

“Wh- of course they hurt. Pillows are compact,”

“I thought you’d charm your way into the heart of an inanimate object, convince it not to hurt you,”

Ned simply grabbed his hat and hurled it at Frye, who ducked to defend himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for I do not know how to characterise George Westhouse. I haven't read Underworld, whoopsie.
> 
> I loved writing Ned's little stories, and I'd like you to imagine Eddie falling flat on his face as you will. 
> 
> Thanks to Chloe for betaing this chapter, and you for reading and enjoying this story, it really means so much to me.
> 
> Next Up: Boating.


	16. Jolly Sailors and Master Assassins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein followups are made and Dangerous Territory is broached.

It was unusual to wake up this late. Evie tended to wake up as the train’s driver was arriving in the morning, which was to say at least half an hour before sunrise. When she spent the night at Jaya’s house, they woke just as the sun rose to spend time together before they had to start their days. Sleeping in well into the morning was a rarity. 

She’d checked her watch—Father’s watch—and was startled to see it was already eight o’clock. Getting out of bed was a little hurried, fuelled by the habitual worry that she would be late for _something_. Except, they didn’t have anyone to see today, unless George had already told the Council of their return. Then they’d be fucked. A quick glance to the six-foot lump under the sheets in Jacob’s bed told her that no, her brother was not awake. 

_I’ll give him until I’m dressed_.

She washed her face, laced herself into her corset and pulled her bodice on. She decided to leave her coat out of the outfit, figuring the deep vee of the red ruffle sewn onto the front would be enough decoration for the home and a quick errand. After all, men in the village walked around in their waistcoats and uncovered shirtsleeves, why couldn’t she? The moment she’d sat herself down in front of their shared wash-table mirror to brush her hair, there was a groan from Jacob’s bed. 

_So much for waiting_. 

She looked over her shoulder at the lump. “Are you alright, Jacob?” she asked. She wasn’t too concerned; he tended to make odd noises in his sleep. Another groan. There was movement under the sheets. “Jacob, what’s wrong?” she picked up her brush and swivelled in her seat to face him while she brushed her hair.

“I’ike ‘im e-e,” came the muffled response from her brother. Evie blinked a few times, unsure of where to start deciphering that sentence.  
  
“What?”

Jacob pushed himself up into a sitting position. “I like him, Evie,” he repeated, rubbing at his cheek that had reddened and raised from being squished against his pillow. 

Evie stared at him blankly, having no idea who he was talking about. “Who do you like?” she draped her hair over her shoulder and ran the brush through it.

“Wynert,” Jacob had drifted his gaze from looking at her to stare at the corner of his bed, as if it was suddenly fascinating. Evie couldn’t say she was surprised. The way he looked when he was with the thief was any variation of ecstatic. Sometimes she thought he looked 'at home', comfortable and at ease in a way he never otherwise did. Whether or not Mister Wynert returned the sentiment was up for debate. She was content enough to wait and see.

“I’m glad you’ve realised, brother dear,” she offered him a little smile, doing her best to keep any amount of smugness from her expression. The two of them had been spending so much time together lately, and they both looked happier for it. The fact that Mister Wynert was _here_ with them only made Jacob’s feelings for him more obvious.

Her brother looked confused. “You’re not surprised?”

She shrugged and placed her brush down. “Didn’t I say that you liked him the day you came back from your trip to Halifax? Watching the two of you hasn’t done much to argue that you _don’t_ have feelings for each other,”  
  
He frowned, if only a little, before sliding out of bed. She turned back around and got to braiding her hair, averting her eyes when he appeared in the mirror to give him that modicum of privacy. That, it seemed, was that. It was quiet in the room as they both got ready for the day. Evie held one braid in her mouth to start the other one.

It took a few minutes, but Jacob broke the silence first. “What do you think the Council will say about our self-promotion?”

Evie collected her braids into the loose hair at the back of her head to pin it into a bun. “I think they won’t be very happy about it,”

“They can get over themselves,”

“You can tell them that, Jacob,”

“Does it look like I have a death wish?”

“No, but you do look like you _would_ say that and run for your life,” she shoved the final pin into her hair, peering into the mirror to make sure it was perfect. She stood and walked past a half-dressed Jacob, toward the door. “I’m going into town to get some food for breakfast. If there’s any cornmeal I’ll make mush,”

“Will you remember the sausages this time?”

“Of course. I won’t make _just_ corn mush,”

“Then I’ll pick some dandelion leaves and we can make a meal out of it,” he paused. “And chop some wood. We used all of it last night and I don’t think the stove will work without it,” 

She gave him a little nod and snatched the cane he left leaning against the door. “And I’m taking your cane,” she announced, but was in the hallway before he could respond. She strode past Father’s bedroom, taking a quick glance through a greyed-out world to confirm that yes, Mister Wynert was still in the room.

She stopped dead at the sight of a second figure downstairs.

They were a blue silhouette hovering around the armchairs. The blue meant they were likely an Assassin, though that didn’t fill her with much confidence either. _Damn it, George._ She restrained a groan at the thought of answering to any of the Masters only half an hour into her morning. Taking the stairs two at a time, she swept into the downstairs room to meet a white-haired man in a green coat.

“George?” she asked, taking Jacob’s cane in both hands. He turned to face her, both surprise and condescension written on his face. “What are you doing here so early?” her eyes drifted to the closed door, pursing her lips. She was sure they locked it last night. “You picked the lock,”

“I wanted to continue our conversation from yesterday afternoon, without the presence of your friend,” he confessed, taking a few steps toward her. She frowned and pulled her watch from her pocket for emphasis.

“You must be eager. It’s only twenty-five past eight,” George looked properly surprised then, so she held out the watch for him to read.

He flicked his eyebrows up. “It’s important your story is heard so that I might protect you from the Council’s wrath,” he said, folding his arms and staring her down like a schoolmaster expecting an answer from a child. He must have copped something from the Council for their leaving, otherwise what reason would he have for being this insistent? There were light footsteps on the stairs and the two Assassins turned to see who had entered the room.

“Is that how you excuse being a gossiping old wife? Care killed the cat, you know,” Jacob quipped. He skipped the last two stairs and joined Evie and George in the central room.

“Good to see you know your Shakespeare, Jacob,” George refuted. 

Evie, sensing that Jacob was about to say something that would veer conversation entirely off course, cleared her throat. “I’m assuming you’ve told the Council we’re back from London,

“I have. They want to speak to you on Sunday. An official Summons,”

The Twins shared look was one of fear. “An official summons means the whole Brotherhood will be there,” Jacob breathed. Evie gripped the head of the cane tighter. They really _were_ in trouble. She should have known this would happen. All they could do now was hope that the Council didn’t see fit to make their punishment staying in Crawley. Or exile. Father’s words echoed in her head. _“That, Evie, is a good illustration of Consequence. It will always catch up with you,”_ She supposed this was consequence doing exactly that. Sighing, she fixed George with the politest smile she could manage.

“I’m confident we can tell them that our self-assigned mission in London was a success. We’ve located two Pieces of Eden—”

“—And Templars in influential places are dead,” Jacob cut in, looking smug about it. “John Elliotson, Pearl Attaway, the Earl of Cardigan—”  
  
“—Philip Twopenny, Lucy Thorne, Maxwell Roth, Lucy Thorne and Crawford Starrick are all dead,”

George frowned in the face of all this new information. “Who-” he tried.

Jacob was quick to explain. “Elliotson was manufacturing a medicine known as Soothing Syrup for Starrick, made with opium and devil's snare and other nasty things to simplify the masses. His death halted production,”

Evie, not wanting to ruin their case by explaining the mess of the apothecary industry that created, jumped right in after him. “Pearl Attaway tried to hold a monopoly over London’s transit system after her major competitor Malcolm Millner died. She stole something called an internal combustion engine, but we never had the chance to investigate what she planned to do with it,”

“Philip Twopenny, governor of the Bank of England, exploited his position to rob the people of London and fund the Templar Order. He died rather poetically in the Bank’s vault,”

“Miss Lucy Thorne was Starrick’s expert on the Pieces of Eden. She was chasing the Shroud at the same time I was and intended to wear it. It was she who unexpectedly led me to the key to open the chest it’s kept in,” _And made a valiant effort to keep me away from it,_ Evie thought privately.

“I’m not exactly sure what the Earl of Cardigan was _ordered_ to do, but he did try to murder the Prime Minister and was a bit of a prick,”

“Jacob, the Corrupt Practices Bill would directly oppose Templar interests in Parliament—”

“—Which is why I killed him,”

Evie refrained from physically showing the emotional pain that terrible linguistic save caused her. “Maxwell Roth led our rival gang, the Blighters, who terrorised London’s streets on the Templar’s behalf until we and our gang, the Rooks, properly opposed them,”

George was fully taken aback by that one. “Your _gang_?”  
  
Jacob waved him off. “It’s a long story. But Roth’s death made London’s streets and it’s underbelly much safer. But… there were a lot of civilian casualties in that mission. He burnt down a fully booked theatre,”

Evie was sure she caught Jacob wince.

“The night after Jacob assassinated Roth, Mister Green told us that Starrick planned to kill the Queen and all the heads of state at a ball in Buckingham Palace and wear the shroud. Jacob and I infiltrated the ball and killed Starrick before he could kill any of the attendees,”

“Mister Green didn’t come with you?”

She shrugged. They’d spoken about it before she left, but he said that he’d prefer not to face a Brotherhood that he did not belong to. “He’s not a British Assassin, so he didn’t think it was right to face the Council like one,”

George returned to silence, one that took several minutes and weighed down on her like a litre of lead. _With him judging us like he is, I doubt we’ll need to go to the Sanctuary._ “You two _have_ been busy. I see you’ve taken it upon yourselves to be made Master Assassins.” The two of them looked down at their outfits in sync. Evie realised that they may not have thought their outfit choices through. Although entirely coincidental, their black-and-red would certainly have earmarked them as Masters, which she doubted anyone would be too happy about.

“With so many Templars who hold significant positions in society _and_ who’s deaths would be detrimental to the Order assassinated, we figured it was only fair,” Jacob said with the air of a scolded child trying to defend himself.  
  
George gave them both an up and down look, and Evie didn’t wilt under the scrutiny like she might have a year and a half ago. She _refused_ to feel like a scolded child. 

Finally, he sighed in defeat. “What of the Pieces of Eden?”

“The Shroud is currently in a hidden vault on the grounds of Buckingham Palace. From what we’ve seen and what Evie’s read, it can heal any wound the wearer may take,”

“And you’re sure the Templars won’t try and make a play for it again?”

“George, if you’re doubting the security of Buckingham Palace, I’d like to see you try and break in,”

Evie had to agree with Jacob on that point. “And the key is now our possession. Without it they can’t open the chest,”

“Believe us, we’ve looked. It’s still there,”

“You checked on this ‘Shroud’ _without_ breaking into Buckingham Palace?” George sounded suspicious at least. At worst, he looked like he didn’t believe them.

“We…” She trailed. There really was no good way to put this.

“We may have been Knighted?” Jacob finished for her.

“You _What?!”_

Before he could scold them further, a drawling voice spoke from the top of the stairs. “I don’t get it either, Mister Westhouse,”

Jacob was the first to look around as Mister Wynert descended the stairs. Evie wasn’t sure anyone could miss the beam on Jacob’s face, or the soft look that spread on Mister Wynert’s face as he looked at the Assassin. _A look just for you. My my, Jacob, you’re both smitten,_ she thought. But George was still present, and he would want to make sure that nothing confidential had been overheard. “How much of that did you hear?” She asked, ignoring the killing look Jacob threw at her over his shoulder. They’d been careful to speak quietly, but it always paid to make sure.

Mister Wynert’s soft look dissolved as quickly as it had appeared. “Just the bit about the Knighthood, Dame Frye. This place has surprisingly thick walls,” reaching a hand up to adjust his glasses, he stopped in the middle of the stairs and looked between the three of them. “Though I’m beginning to think I missed something,”

“I assure you, it’s nothing important. I wanted to catch up with them properly after they were better rested from the train ride from London,” George lied, sounding rather terse about it. The three Assassins really were terrible at this. 

Evie cleared her throat and made a bit of a show checking her watch again. “In fact,” she declared, turning to George. “I was just about to head into town to get some food for breakfast. If you’d like to join me?”

George, coming to the realisation that the situation posed to him was a trap and he would be very rude for snubbing her, gestured toward the door. “I don’t see why not,” his voice was congenial but his nigh-glare conveyed his opinions on her little distraction clearly. She pretended not to notice, politely smiling once again and walking toward the door.  
  
“We’ll only be gone twenty minutes, I’m sure,” she pulled the door open and fixed her brother with a death stare. “Don’t burn the house down,”

He made an indignant noise, but she was already out the door before he could reply.

\---

Summer afternoons in Crawley were surprisingly pleasant after such a long time away from them. The sun was just bright enough to reflect off the lighter colours of the world, but not too bright to have to squint. It was yellow tinted and warm and danced joyously on the water of the lake just outside of town. Bees buzzed around the flower bushes that lined the path and birds sang to each other in the trees. It was rather perfect weather for a date. Which one could suppose today was. Jacob had asked Wynert his opinion on leisure rowing, and had promised him some fun on the water.

Jacob didn’t bother rolling up his trousers as he pushed the little row boat into the lake. His boots had suffered worse, so they might as well take the dip, too.. Wynert was already in the boat as it hit the water and Jacob caught his white knuckled grip on the side as he leapt in.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Wynert grumbled, but his face didn’t reflect the sentiment. In fact, he appeared overcome with wonder. He’d been admiring the scenery all the way to the lake. Jacob, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to tear his attention away from the other man. The way he spoke about the countryside and why he thought it was so lovely and his silly white suit were all incredibly endearing.

Trying not to dwell on that, Jacob slotted the oars into the oarlocks. “Scared of a bit of water, are you?” he asked, pulling them back and propelling the boat forward. He really couldn’t believe they were doing it either. This was something rich couples from the estates did as part of their silly courtship rituals, not something for a career criminal and a gang leader.

Wynert looked over his shoulder at the town on the other side of the lake. “One, I can’t swim. Two, this is something we’d be doing if we were characters in a romance book,”

“One, I promise I won’t capsize the boat,” he doubted having to swim back to dry land would be very romantic, although saving Wynert from drowning _might_ be. “And two, so what if it is?”

“Our lives aren’t exactly the stuff of a romance novel, Frye,”

“Jacob,” he corrected. It was an impulse, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. 

Wynert’s eyes snapped back to him and he raised a brow. “What?”

“Call me Jacob. Please,”

Wynert looked him up and down, a gesture that made Jacob squirm, but in a good way. His eyes settled on his face again, and the thief softened, the tiniest of curls at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, Jacob,” the name coming from his mouth only intensified the squirmy feeling, now accompanied by warmth somewhere in his chest. He wanted to hear Wynert say his name like that every day. “A jewel thief and a gang leader, both men, falling in love. Who would read that?”

 _I’d live it._ Jacob shrugged and kept the words within. “I’m sure you’d find people who’d want to read it. It sounds like a bestseller,”

“I wish,”

“I’d certainly read it,” he tried. It was a bit pathetic, but he really did mean it. The curl at the corner of Wynert’s mouth increased ever slightly.

“We could read it together, maybe,”

It was Jacob’s turn to smile now. The innuendo was obvious, but not too obvious to defeat the purpose. Like a secret between the two of them. “That would be…” _magnificent? A dream?_ “Great,” _smooth._

They lapsed into a silence broken only by the leisurely swish of water under the oars. Wynert leaned over the side to dip his fingers into the water, a gesture that had Jacob just watching the way he moved. The lazy movement of his arm, the drape of his body over the side of the boat. The pose was so relaxed, so ordinary, but on Wynert it was like a work of art. A marble sculpture crafted by a master. The light caught the sharpness of his cheek and the wisps of his hair, transforming the strands into auburn and gold. His skin caught the light and enhanced it, claiming it as his own private glow. It didn’t help that every word the American spoke felt like scripture. Something Jacob wanted to hold onto and listen to over and over, forever. 

Jacob was in deep.

“I haven’t been on the water for something other than work since I moved to England,” Wynert mused, straightening to face Jacob. The Assassin shook himself from his trance and tried to pretend like he _wasn’t_ staring. “It’s a lot nicer than I remember it,”

“Nicer?" Jacob stalled the oars and placed them back in the boat, leaning into his companion. They were in the middle of the lake now, alone on the water.

“You don’t rock the boat half as much as the Atlantic Ocean ever could. I don’t feel like puking my guts out,”

“What do you feel like?” there was a churning of emotions in his head. He didn’t know exactly what _he_ was feeling, but he knew none of it was bad. He could call it contentment if he tried; it felt so much more profound than that. 

Wynert laid back just a little, lounging in the boat. “I rather feel like singing. I used to love singing. When I was a teenager, or maybe a boy, I wanted to join a choir. Didn’t get far with that, though.”

“Why not?”

“I couldn’t harmonise properly with the other boys,”

“Could you sing now?”

Wynert fixed him with a look that he couldn’t really place. “You wanna hear it?”

“Would I ask for any other reason?”

“Alright, alright. Let me see what I can manage,” he leaned forward again, clasping his hands in his lap. After a brief moment of staring vacantly in Jacob’s general direction, he cleared his throat and began to sing.  
“Upon one summer’s morning as I carelessly did stray,  
down by the wall of wapping, where I met a sailor gay—”  
a quick bitten lip and a wink thrown at Jacob  
“—conversing with a bouncing lass who’d seem’d to be in pain,  
saying ‘William, when you go, I fear you’ll not return again,”

Jacob _knew_ this song. He’d heard it several times helping the Rooks who sail the Thames. He took a breath and joined in for the second verse.  
“His hair it did in ringlets hang, his eyes as black as sloes,  
may happiness attend him, wherever that he goes,  
from Tower Hill to Blackwall, she’ll wander, weep and moan,  
all for her jolly sailor bold, until he does return,”

“Her father is a merchant and the truth to you I’ll tell,  
and in great New York City in opulence doth dwell,   
his fortuned doth exceed three hundred thousand gold,  
and he frowns upon his daughter for she loves a sailor bold,”

“That’s not the lyrics!”

“They were when I heard them!”

Jacob gaped, clutching for a good reason. Unable to find one, he frowned and took a breath to start the next verse that he thought he remembered.  
“So come all you pretty fair maids, whoever that you be,   
who love a jolly sailor bold that ploughs the raging sea,   
while up aloft in storm and gale, from you his absence mourn,   
and firmly pray, godspeed the day, he home will safe return,”

If Wynert caught the blatant jump in the song, he didn’t show it.  
“Her name it is Maria, she’s a merchant’s daughter fair,   
she left her home and family and three thousand dollars a year,   
her heart is pierced by cupid’s dart, she shuns all glittering gold,  
and there’s nothing can console her…but her jolly sailor…bold…”  
he trailed off, eyes locked with Jacob’s. The two had gravitated closer over the course of the final verse. Now they were close enough to be breathing each other’s air. Close enough that if he tilted his head just a little, they could slot together like a puzzle. Jacob’s breath was light, scared to break the magical intensity of the moment. His heart was a gallop in his chest, threatening to break free at any moment. Wynert cupped his cheek, and he covered the hand with his own.

He took a shuddering breath and sang, barely above a whisper. “My heart is pierced by cupid, I disdain all glittering gold, there is none that can console me but my jolly sailor bold,” his eyes closed and he pressed Wynert’s hand against his cheek. He wanted to stay like this forever. Wynert’s hand rested against his other cheek and he opened his eyes to catch the thief’s gaze on his lips. Jacob’s own gaze drifted to Wynert’s mouth, slightly parted and soft and plump and so, so close. 

So close, in fact, there was only a split second between that thought and Wynert’s lips pressing against his.

The kiss was soft and chaste, and Wynert’s lips hovered just out of reach after they parted. He pulled back, looking Jacob in the eyes and looking with trepidation for a reaction.

It was as if all thoughts had left Jacob’s mind. He exhaled deeply and gazed with unfocused eyes at the thief, _his_ thief. He really was in deep.

“Fr- Jacob…” Wynert murmured breathlessly, not bothering to fix his askew glasses.

“Come here,” Jacob whispered back, guiding Wynert onto his lap. He straddled Jacob's legs and their lips met again, exploring and urgent. Wynert kissed like it was a competition, bruising and vying for dominance. His hand travelled into the Assassin’s hair, fingers dragging through the strands at the back of his head. Jacob’s head tilted backwards and Wynert chased him, rising up onto his knees. He placed his hand on the back of Wynert’s neck, pulling him ever closer.

They kissed and kissed, barely coming up for air. The more Wynert kissed him, the more he found he wanted it. He wanted the fountain of knowledge that was his mind, the soft caress of his hands, the drawl of his voice, the control he fought for even in such an intimate act. He found himself wanting to submit to him and poured that want into his movement, his mouth, the hand at the base of Wynert’s neck.

His thief pulled away and sat back in Jacob’s lap, only now adjusting his glasses. His breath was short and heavy, lips red and shining, his eyes distant. “Shit, Frye,”

Jacob stared up at him like one would stare at the sunset, glowing and radiant in his beauty. “I’m not the one who turned it into a competition, Wynert,”

“Just Ned,” He corrected. Jacob nodded and took a moment to roll the name around in his mouth.

“Ned it is then,” feeling bold, he leaned forward and nuzzled into the slope of skin where jaw and neck met. Placing kisses, he was careful not to get too eager and leave marks. This care was rewarded by a trembling sigh and a gentle tug on his hair.

There abruptly came an urgent, rude hiss from the prow of the boat. Both men turned their heads in surprise at the interruption, to where a swan, large and brilliantly white, sat defiantly in a tangle of reeds. It gave them a disapproving glare and ruffled its tail.

Ned curled towards Jacob, and the Assassin could feel his laughter. “We, uh, we’re in very dangerous territory,” 

They certainly were, but Jacob found himself unwilling to leave. “Can’t we stay here a while?” he turned his attention back to Ned’s neck, and there was a harder tug on his hair, bordering on painful, in response to his nipping at Ned’s soft flesh. 

Ned pulled away, cupping Jacob’s face in both hands. “If we stayed like this too long, I don’t think we’d ever leave,” he leaned in to kiss Jacob one last time, before lifting himself off the Assassin’s lap and returning to his seat opposite him. Jacob reigned in his disappointment, but assured himself that Ned didn’t mean to say they could never do it again.

He slotted the oars back into place, pushed them away from the reed bank and revelled in the memory of Ned’s mouth on his, all the long way back to shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know Evie's Master Assassin Outfit's under layer looks different than what I've described, but that corset-over-a-modern-black-blouse look physically sickens my historical dress enthusiast eyes so I've elected to ignore it. However for the sake of character, Evie's bodice here is sleeveless.
> 
> Why is the ONE outfit Evie wears a corset the one where it's on the outside of her outfit.
> 
> Also uh... kissing scenes amirite ladies?
> 
> My instagram story saw the struggle I had writing this and boye was I glad that typing it was so much easier. Let me tell you this chapter was a STRUGGLE. I think I wrote it entirely in a day and I honestly I'm glad I didn't have to write it over more than one day because I have no idea how I would have done it. Like I'm struggling right now writing chapters over several days. 
> 
> I would like to disclaim that I have never been to Crawley, and I would like to apologise to anyone who does live in Crawley for giving y'all a lake instead of a creek but I needed the lake for Gay reasons(TM).
> 
> Everyone say "thanks Erika" for the angry swan.
> 
> I'd like to thank Erika, Chloe and Lauren for betaing this chapter and you! For reading it!
> 
> Next up: Jacob and Evie get yelled at.


	17. Consequences, Catching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein The Twins are reprimanded and hatch another plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today marks the day wherein I'd like to advise that y'all get ~~T h r e e c h a p t e r s~~
> 
> I suffered typing these three up and I'd like to never do this again. I swear I decided to type the longest chapters in my fic up all in one week. Please, kill me.

Sunday came much too quickly for Jacob’s liking. He and Evie spent the last week around Crawley, speaking to old friends, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Jacob narrowly avoided having a shoe thrown at him by the owner of the pub he used to act as watcher for. Evie had found that hilarious

He and Ned spent the week doing practically anything but talking about that whole boat ride. He joined them on their adventures around town and Jacob invited him on little adventures of their own, but he didn’t mention the fact that they kissed and Jacob didn’t want to push him. 

So he didn’t. He knew how hard it could be coming to terms with liking men. He also figured that it probably wasn’t the best idea to actively pursue a non-Assassin while not being able to tell him about his Assassin-ness. It was already tricky being _friends_ and not being able to tell him the whole truth when their Assassin abilities were so intertwined with their work and partnership.

Jacob then figured that he’d tell him the truth if he asked the right questions.

“You’re drifting again, Jacob,” Evie told him. Her voice cut through his thoughts, dragging him firmly back into reality. They’d stopped just outside the manhole that led to the Brotherhood’s Sanctuary. Or their Basement of Operations, as Jacob liked to call it.

He scrubbed a hand along his cheek. “Sorry, I’ve got a lot to think about,” he confessed. It wasn’t a lie. She gave him an up and down look, but found the excuse satisfactory. She placed the Edensflower’s pot that she’d been carrying on the ground before bending to turn a wheel and open the cover on silent hinges. Jacob gestured toward the ladder visible in the dark. “Ladies first,”

Evie’s eyes turned from blue to a cloudy grey, she tucked the pot carefully underneath one arm and she lowered herself onto the ladder. Giving her a few second head start, he climbed in after her and pulled the manhole shut after him. It wouldn’t do for anyone to accidentally stumble upon the Brotherhood, after all. There were no lights of any kind on the way to the Sanctuary, leaving Assassins to rely on their Eagle Vision to navigate the darkened maze. This presented a problem for Jacob. He had every intent to do so, even lowering taking the deep breath recommended to steady himself into that more observant state.

But, just like it had it had for the past three weeks, his grey-washed view of the world refused to appear.

He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking thoughts of the sunset, misty autumn mornings, the smell of his favourite bakery in Southwark, the sound of a hearthfire. The only thing that met him was a throb in his skull harder than a punch to the forehead. He hissed from the pain and had to pause his descent for a good few seconds.

His feet hit solid ground and he felt around for his sister. “Evie?” he hissed, only a little scared. “Evie, I can’t see,”

The sound of her footsteps stopped. “What do you mean? You remember the entrance is dark intentionally, right?”

Jacob shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Evie. I know, I just—” he cut himself off and sighed. How was he going to explain this? “My Eagle Vision isn’t _working,_ ” even when he was just a child and first learning to use the state of heightened senses, it had never completely failed him like this.

“Then take my hand,” she offered, grabbing hold of his wrist. “I’ll lead you,”

Jacob let her lead him through the maze.

“I have to tell the Council,” he decided. “To see if they know what to do,”

“They’ll know what to do,” she sounded confident, maybe a little too much so. They’d have to hope that this _was_ something Assassins had seen before. _He_ had to hope it would wear off soon.

They turned a final corner before the light flooded entry hall of the Sanctuary greeted them. Evie let go of his wrist, stalling and taking a look at the hall. The white marble walls hadn’t changed, the ceiling was still supported by green stone pillars, the dark wooden floor still covered by that wine red rug. If you didn’t know it was an Assassin owned building, you’d quickly work it out. The eagle’s beak symbol was everywhere, on the rug and the tapestries and carved into the various doors that stemmed from the main hallway. It was even set into the two doors that led to the Council’s chamber underneath that familiar split set of stairs. 

The two of them shared a nod, Jacob rolled his shoulders to steel himself and they started down the hallway, toward those double doors. The eerie quiet of the room wasn’t a good sign. Usually you could hear muffled speech from the rooms they walked past. Silence meant no one was there. It almost felt like they were walking into a trial.

They probably were walking into a trial.

They each placed a hand on the doors and knocked in tandem. Once, twice, three times. The doors opened for them and they walked through. Jacob flexed and clenched his fingers, if only to have something to do with them. The entire Brotherhood was here, apparently, the room’s sides lined with a crowd of hooded figures, and even though he couldn’t see their faces, he could feel the weight of their eyes on him. He forced his head high, imagining these people as his Rooks rather than people who’d known him his entire life. The two of them came to a stop inside a diamond patterned into the floor at the room’s centre.

“Evie and Jacob Frye,” A voice announced from the Dais. The woman stood behind a lectern and in front of an eagle, positioned so that it’s wings appeared to be growing from her own back. _Good to see you too, Penelope. I’m very good thanks, how are you?_ he thought, only a little bitterly. In pure judgementality, Penelope and Father were in close contention. “I should have you both exiled for insubordination,”

“Mentor—” Evie started. Penelope Williams held up a hand.

“Silence, Miss Frye,” she lowered her hood so they could see the full extent of her rage. “You disobeyed a blanket order to leave London to the Templars. You travelled to the city behind the Brotherhood’s back. You neglected to inform the Brotherhood of your activities and findings once in London, you chose your own targets without sanction or advice from other Assassins—”

“Mentor, that’s not true!” Jacob interjected.

Penelope hit her hand against the lectern. “Mister Frye do _not_ interrupt me!” Jacob’s mouth shut with a click of his teeth. “You pursued _two_ pieces of Eden without the proper knowledge of their function or the power they possess, risking countless lives. And you have the _gall_ to call yourselves Masters. _What_ do you have to say for yourselves?!”

Evie was the first to speak. “Our year spent in London wasn’t unplanned. Jacob’s Templar targets were provided to him by Jayadeep Mir, an Indian Assassin living in London and a close friend of our Father. He has watched over the city for seven years and has written to George for aid on multiple occasions. He knew where we needed strike to cause the Templars the most amount of pain. He has researched the first civilisation and we searched for the Shroud together. _He_ was our advisor and our substitute for a Council out of touch with, and afraid of, the modern London. Even without his help we would have conquered London, found the Shroud and liberated the people because we are Assassins and that _means_ something to us,” she finished with a sharp exhale that had Jacob taken aback. That was the angriest he’d ever seen her in front of the Council. It was more defensive than she’d ever been in front of any authority figure in her life.

“Yes, Mister Green did request our aid,” another Council member—James—said, lowering his own hood. “And we denied it to him on the grounds that the Brotherhood was too weak to effectively manage a Templar threat,”

That had Jacob seeing red. It was the same ‘patience, dears’ they had been schooled in their whole lives. Maybe it was just plain weakness. “So instead you dawdled here in Crawley, allowing them to grow stronger by the day,” he spat. Angry murmurs followed his words, but he ignored them. 

“Mister Frye!” Penelope scolded. Master Welch held up a dismissive hand in Jacob’s direction.

“Upon your arrival back in Crawley, we corresponded with Mister Green and he has spoken very highly of you. He has told us that despite the…mishaps caused by your efforts to disrupt Templar control of the city, you two have done a great service to the people of England,”

Mentor Williams gave James a look, before sighing heavily. “Despite your failure to communicate with the Brotherhood, you two have done in a year what we have been unable to do in Seventy. The Grand Master is dead and the Order has been in shambles for more than five months, even out here in south England. For that, we thank you and commend you,”

Taken aback once more, Jacob raised his eyebrows. “That’s it? No punishment?” the Brotherhood sounded just as surprised as he did, guessing by their gasps and murmurs.

“No, Mister Frye. Unless you want to be exiled,”

He raised his hands in surrender and bowed his head. “No, of course not, Mentor,”

“However, Mentor, we do have something we’d like to present to the Council,” Evie said. “In April of this year, the Indian brotherhood wrote to Mister Mir to inform him of Assassins he was particularly close to having gone missing. We’ve sent members of our gang, the Rooks, to aid in the search for them. We’re still waiting for any information about their investigation,”

Penelope regarded her with a sharp look. “Mister Green didn’t join them?”

“No, my fiancé is in London because he was exiled by his Brotherhood and brought here by our Father.

The Mentor stood in quiet contemplation for a moment, but nodded. “It seems Ethan retained some of his own rebellious streak. Do inform us of their result as soon as you hear from your gang members. We may not be able to help unless asked, but it is still in our interests to know that they are safe. What of your other news?”

This one was Jacob’s tale to tell. He took the flower pot from his sister and held it in front of him. “Last year, we befriended the American thief Ned Wynert. In April he asked me to help him steal correspondence between two Templars. They talk about this flower and a field of other plants like it they want to use in a product. These flowers are Pieces of Eden, but neither Evie or I have any idea what they do. These Templars have also mentioned testing their product on people who ‘make themselves known’. I’ve got Rooks patrolling London neighbourhoods to protect the people who live there until I find out what their product does, exactly,”

“Botanical Pieces of Eden?” another Council member, Adelaide, asked as she removed her own hood. Jacob nodded and placed the pot on the ground. She was something of their resident Precursor expert. Jacob had made jokes about Evie turning into her when they grew up once upon a time. “Where, exactly, is this field Mister Frye?”

“Halifax. On the grounds of Shibden Hall,”

“We will investigate these flowers further, then, Mister Frye. However I would recommend you continue your work with Mister Wynert in case that provides you with any new information,”

He took a steadying breath. It was now or never. “There is…one last thing,” how should he phrase this? _Oh, I downed a beer in fifteen seconds and now I can’t use Eagle Vision! Not to worry, I’ll be okay eventually._ They wouldn’t buy that. “Over the past few weeks, I’ve lost the ability to use Eagle Vision, and trying to use it gives me a headache,” Murmuring broke out again, and he waited until it died down to start again. “I don’t know what caused it, but it hasn’t impeded most of my Assassin and gang leader activities since it stopped working, so I’ve decided to wait until it passes,”

“Jacob Frye being patient?” Evie murmured, leaning into him slightly. “Are you sure you’re my brother?”

He elbowed her in the ribs.

“It’s not an unheard of affliction, however rare. The headache is a new symptom, however,” Adelaide confessed, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “And Mister Frye’s reasoning is sound. All you _can_ do is wait,”

Penelope pursed her lips, looking between the two of them for a short while. “Very well. Master Assassins Evie and Jacob Frye, this Council charges you with the protection of the citizens of London City and the continuation of your investigation into the Piece of Eden flowers. As a condition of this charge, Mister Frye is forbidden from coming into direct contact with Members of the Templar Order until his extraordinary powers of observation return to him,” Jacob released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. They weren’t going to be punished. He could go back to London with Ned. He and Evie could lead the Rooks as normal. They didn’t have to stay in fucking Crawley. “May the Creed guide you,” she said with an air of finality. Jacob and Evie nodded in thanks. “This meeting is adjourned,”

\---

“A few weeks?” Evie asked, pacing the length of the room she shared with her brother. A few weeks was a long time to not be able to use Eagle Vision. She didn’t know what she’d do if she couldn’t use it for such a long period of time. “And you didn’t _tell_ me?”

Jacob, who was sitting on the end of his bed, scrubbed at his face “I didn’t want to make you overly worried because I knew this,” he used his other hand to gesture vaguely at her, “would happen,”

She stopped pacing and furrowed her brow at him. “Jacob I would have helped you,”

“Adelaide said I just need to wait it out. I’m going to wait for it,” he seemed oddly calm for being told he needs to wait for something. She looked him dead in the eye, raising a brow.

“And you’re alright with that?” He nodded. _This is definitely odd._ She made a show of a sharp inhale and a conceding look. “Then I take it you’ll listen to Penelope’s advice as well. No direct contact with the Templars _or_ the blighters until your Eagle Vision works again,”

He held up his hands in surrender but looked a little pouty about it. “I know, I heard the first time,”

“So you won’t mind if I take over the Rook patrols in Lambeth? So you can focus on your assignment,”

“By all means,”

Evie allowed a cheeky grin to spread across her face. “Are you _sure_ you’re my brother? You’re being patient _and_ obedient,”

That earned her a bland look. “I’m about to throw a knife at your face,” she shrugged, but decided to back off.

“When did you notice something was wrong with your eagle vision?”

“May Eighteenth. When I finished that beer, my vision went grey and the Rooks changed colour. You know how the Rooks are green, Ned’s blue and the Blighters are red?”

She did know, her Vision worked the same way. But a person’s colour didn’t change unless she’d changed her perception of them. “You didn’t have a sudden revelation about them, did you?”

He shook his head. “They cycled through all those colours and then I was seeing normally,”

That wasn’t beer in that bottle. She’d chugged beer as a party trick before but it never affected her Vision. Jacob had been in a Blighter warehouse when she’d been called. _What does that mean?_

“Jacob, what did those letters you stole say?”

“Which ones?”

“The most recent. About the test subjects,”

“It said ‘test subjects will be easy to come by if they make themselves known’,” he stared up at her, but wore the expression she dubbed his ‘thinking face’, which in all honesty looked like he’d been smoking opium for a week straight.

That line was in a _Templar_ letter. Templars didn’t expect Londoners to ‘make themselves known’, they simply were. She’d heard similar sentiments expressed about the two of them last year. Specifically by Templars. An unlabelled beer in a Blighter protected factory that didn’t taste like beer and affected only the Assassin in the group, found two weeks after a Templar conception made from a Piece of Eden was shipped to London. 

“Jacob I think I’ve just come to a realisation,” she said, eyes darting to him from where she’d been staring into space.

“I think I’ve just come to the same one,”

“The Templars are using Edensflower to make an Assassin poison,”

“That’d be the one,”

She covered her mouth in shock and took a seat on the end of her own bed. “We have to stop them before they get too generous with their recipe,”

Jacob looked over at her, frowning. “You don’t want to warn the Council first?”

“No, we’ll get more done in London. But we have to be careful, make sure we’re not kidnapped and tested on,”

“Like the missing Indian Assassins,”

 _Oh dear God._ Her stomach suddenly felt very uneasy. “We have to get back to London,” She needed to tell Jaya so he could tell the Indian brotherhood.

“We can’t get back for another few days, even if we sent a letter to Agnes right now,”

He was right and she knew it. Still, she drummed her fingers anxiously against her thigh if only to be doing something with them. If she couldn’t be in London then she had to be doing something about it here in Crawley. “Then we have to make a plan,”

Jacob stuttered for a second, more making noises than forming bits of actual words. “I think our plan is simple. I continue my work with Wynert and you and Greenie do normal intelligence gathering, since you’ve got the skills working for it and all. We can utilise the Rooks some other way,”

“Surveillance. We’d have to watch whatever addresses they mention in their letters. They’re bound to make a mistake eventually, and we can exploit that, save ourselves, save the Indians, save every Assassin everywhere—” she was cut off by the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. Jacob had snuck up on her as she was frantically rambling and was now crouched by the side of her bed.

“Hey,” he murmured. She faced him, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “We’re going to beat them, I promise,” he pulled her into a tight hug, a gentle comfort against the wave of panic that threatened to wash over her. She tucked her chin into his shoulder. 

“We have to,”

He moved his hand in a gentle stroking motion up and down her back. “They won’t get you because you’re smart. They won’t get Henry because he’s resourceful. They won’t get me because we protect each other,”

Evie suppressed a giggle, instead inhaling thickly through parted lips. “We always protect each other. You’re clever too Jacob, you’re not an idiot,”

“That’s beside the point. Once we kill Misters Friskley and Carleton, you can beg the Council to let you help the Indian Assassins, and we can have Greenie’s exile revoked. You two can move there as soon as you can so you can help them better. Everything will turn out okay,”

“You make it sound so simple,”

“Maybe I do, but is that so bad?” Jacob held her at arms length. There was a prickling in her nose that she refused to pay any attention to, or call anything more than the need to sneeze. “Tell you what,” he said, springing up from where he was crouched on the floor. “Wrap yourself in that blanket, I’ll put some tea on and we can plan our next move over a cuppa,”

As much as she wanted to deny it, having her fears calmed and her feelings accommodated in such a soft and nostalgia invoking way felt…nice. She grabbed a hold of the blanket and pulled it around her shoulders. Jacob was already out of the room, so she stood to follow him. “It’s a miracle if that tea is any good,” she sniffled just a little and padded into the hallway after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's into Wholesome Frye Twins? I sure am! Evie is just a big sister trying to look after her boyes.
> 
> The description of the Sanctuary sounds a lot like the Unity one, I know, but I couldn't find any descriptions for an Italian home base or a Levantine one so like, sorry?
> 
> I'd like to thank Chloe and Lauren for Betaing this chapter and to you, for reading it!
> 
> Next up: Horse rides


	18. Of Horses and Heart Attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein horses are ridden, a picnic takes place and the Thief learns just a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to warn everyone that this chapter was only finished being typed up half a minute ago. It is also only half Betad so please excuse any and all typos you come across.

Ned was starting to question how he ended up here. Just outside of Crawley, waiting for the Frye Twins to return with _horses_ of all things. He knew exactly how he got to this very spot on this summer afternoon, he just wondered how he got into this situation. He wondered how he could even think of doing something as stupid as kissing Jacob. He doesn’t mix attraction with business. That was a rule.

So why did he _want_ to make an exception for Jacob fucking Frye of all people?

He certainly didn’t want to let him go, but talking about that boat ride made the whole thing real. Ned wasn’t ready for it to be real just yet. But _God_ he wanted to keep Jacob around. Keep testing the waters, keep pushing and having the man push back. He wanted to feel the want he did when their lips collided in every action, to know Jacob wanted back. He liked the stupid jokes, the wit, the soft side, the brute force, the mind behind the whirlwind.

He _wanted_ Jacob Frye.

Even if he did, he really wasn’t amused when the universe gave him exactly what he wanted, just, sitting on a horse. 

As Frye walked the horse up to him, he reached out to scratch the animal’s muzzle. He had to lean back to avoid being smacked in the face by it’s enthusiasm for new friends. “Hey buddy,” he crooned, stroking his hand down the coarse hair. “Aren’t you beautiful?” It was a beautiful creature. A dapple gray with a gray and white mane, it turned its head at the compliment to stare at him with surprisingly deep eyes.

Jacob, never one to pass up a stupid joke, clutched his hand to his chest. “Why thank you, I get that a lot,”

Ned looked up at him with an eyebrow raised and a barely-there smirk. “Yeah? I can’t see why that is,”

“I’d like to say it’s plenty of pomade and a fantastic beard, but I’m starting to think I was born this way,”

That was…actually funny. He snorted and tucked his head into his chest to hide his grin. His shoulders shook with the laughter and he looked back up at a very blurry Jacob over his glasses. “I was talking to the horse,”

The man simply shrugged, unashamed. “Well now I know where I stand with you,” he held a hand out to Ned, who took it with an outstanding amount of suspicion. “Do you know how to ride a horse?”

He didn’t really. He only learned side-saddle once and hated every second of that entire experience. “Even if I did, there’s only one horse. Did you miscount or…” Jacob looked around, even turning around in the saddle. _Oh boy._

“See we _had_ two, but Evie seems to have run off with it,”

Ned, still both confused and finding this entirely hilarious, looked around for the other Frye Twin. “This doesn’t boost my confidence in your Math skills,”

“The plan was for all three of us to have a horse, but the bloke we borrowed them from only let us have two. Didn’t trust us with the third one,”

He’d have to ride with someone, then. Not like that was any less daunting. “Am I riding with you or your sister?”

Jacob’s grip on his hand strengthened, turning into a squeeze rather than anything painful. Was he being possessive? Ned grinned at him and squeezed back. “I didn’t think you wanted to ride with Evie. Inappropriate and all that,”

Ned really didn’t know Dame Frye well enough to be able to comfortably ride on the same horse as her, but he doubted that riding with Jacob, or being that _close_ to Jacob physically was such a good idea. If he got too touchy or too…squishy, he could find something Ned didn’t want him to. But if he wanted Jacob the way he did, then didn’t he have to give those pieces of himself up? Jacob would have to find out eventually, and if he hadn’t asked about Ned’s rather traitorous body by now, maybe he’d never notice. Or maybe he was just polite. Either way, Ned figured that if there was ever a time and place for what shouldn’t be to exist freely, then why not here and now, where everything they’d done so far was allowed? “Are you gonna help me up or not?”

Jacob thought for a moment, before releasing Ned’s hand and gracefully dismounting the horse. He landed in front of him and the two stared at each other for a moment. There was the fleeting thought of _oh God I’m gonna be practically cuddling him,_ that ran through Ned’s mind. He chased it away with a follow up of _who cares?_ If he could find excitement in moments like creeping around a warehouse with Jacob and find comfort in moments of stillness like this with the man, why should he care about being that close right now? Caring about his actions was for later. Jacob took his hand again and guided it to meet the other still resting on the horse’s nose. “Ned, this is Marguerite,” he declared, before leaning down to whisper in his ear. “She’s a pack horse, but don’t tell her that. She’s a bit of a diva,” he cleared his throat and looked the horse dead in the eye. “Marguerite, this is Ned. He’ll be kind to you, don’t worry. He’s nice to most people when he’s finished being grumpy about it,”

Ned removed his hand from the horse’s nose and elbowed him in the ribs. Marguerite blustered, but made no further acknowledgement. “I’m going to hope that means she likes me,”

“…Me too,” they exchanged nervous glances, before Jacob came around the other side of Marguerite and held his hand over the horse’s back. Ned took it, bewildered, and only just refrained from making an undignified squeaking noise when Jacob pulled on his arm hard enough to yank it right out of its socket. “Can you get your foot in the stirrup?”

Ned, instead of expressing his annoyance at the sudden action, felt around with his right foot. The stirrup was up near his hips, which caused him much concern for his balance. He brought his leg all the way up and hooked his foot onto the metal bar. “I’ve got it, but why the hell are you pulling on my arm so hard?”

Jacob stopped pulling so hard in response. “I’m going to pull you up,” he took a moment to give the horse a reassuring stroke. “Okay, I need you to jump and push yourself up with the stirrup. Give me your other hand,” Ned held out his other hand and Jacob led it to rest on Marguerite's back. “Ready? Jump,”

Ned bent his knee and bounded up from the ground, helping his leap with his foot in the stirrup and the hand on her back. Jacob, true to his word, pulled on his arm to stop him toppling over. He stood like that for a good while, holding his leg as still as he could. Up here, he was well over six feet tall, much taller than Jacob. He could get used to this. “Alright, what now?” nevermind if his voice wavered because his knee wobbled precariously. He knew Jacob wouldn’t let him go.

“Bring your leg up and over then sit,” Jacob instructed. Ned slowly brought his leg over the horse’s back, letting Jacob keep him leaning to one side. He gently sat himself down and took a second to get used to the feeling of such a large living thing underneath him. He could feel her sides rising and falling under his legs. It was an odd feeling, but one he could get used to easily. There were a few seconds of getting used to that before he felt another warmth right up against his back. He tensed and wriggled forward in the saddle as much as he was able. Jacob adjusted his seating too, and in the small space they ended up pressed together. 

Like this, Ned could feel every breath Jacob took as well. The rise and fall of his chest was steady and gentle. Ned imagined that, if he tried, he could put a baby to sleep just by letting it sleep on his chest. Ned let his foot out of the stirrup so Jacob could take it and leaned back into the man. He wanted to savour this feeling while it lasted. Just him, the cheerful chirping of the birds, the sweet smell of flowers somewhere else, and the gentle feeling of Jacob’s breathing.

Ned knew that he shouldn’t let this happen back in London. He didn’t need the distraction, especially if he wanted the theft from his parents to go well. And he didn’t need the bigger target on his back. He should leave the stolen kisses on boats and thoughts of falling asleep to the rhythm of Jacob’s breathing in the countryside. But he found himself not wanting to. He wanted to keep them around back in the city, if they found the time. It couldn’t be so bad, liking—Maybe even loving—Jacob. It just meant that he’d have to do some work for his reputation.

Jacob reached around him to take the reins when there was the sound of hooves behind them.

“Sorry I’m late,” Dame Frye called by way of greeting. “There was an unfortunate incident with Bobbie Brown’s cart and…” she trailed off as she reined her horse to a stop beside them. Her eyes flicked between their faces, expression one Ned hadn’t seen her make in the time he’d known her. Something like recognition if he had to to place it, like she’d just walked in on something she wasn’t meant to see but expected to happen eventually. He could feel a blush rising in his cheeks but he refused to acknowledge it. Instead he leaned forward, not quite off of Jacob but not leaning into him, and gave her a little nod.

Jacob’s reaction, however, was bodily. Ned could feel the rumbling chuckle as it vibrated through his chest and shook his shoulders. “Has he still not gotten that fixed?”

Dame Frye shook her head. “He still says nothing’s wrong with it,” the two of them shared another laugh before Dame Frye gestured ahead of them. “Are you taking the lead?”

Jacob waved her off. “We’ll follow you,” she nodded and kicked her horse into a walk. She guided it in front of them and down the path that stretched over a bridge and into a cluster of trees. The road was wide enough to walk side by side, and Ned was just about to ask why they hadn’t moved when he felt Jacob’s legs shifting to beckon Marguerite into a walk. “Try not to touch her sides too much, she can get confused,” Ned made an acknowledging grunt and tried his best to keep his legs from moving too much.

As they approached the bridge, he could hear the sound of a stream flowing leisurely underneath it. Everything was so soft and lovely here, it seemed. The sunlight, the breeze, Jacob’s breathing, the sound of the stream. He loved it.

The Twins started chatting about something he really wasn’t paying attention to. No, his attention had been caught by the dappling of the light on the path, on the feel of the wind and the sounds of the birds in the trees. The late afternoon was golden and it had a dreamlike quality to it, the promise of a good time, of innocent words and firsts exchanged. _If only Dame Frye wasn’t here_ … he forced the thought away. They were supposed to be on this trip together, and thinking such things was a bastardly thing to do. 

He turned his focus from the forest and the inherent romanticism of it, toward the horse moving underneath him. Holding onto her with his thighs and just his thighs was _hell_ on his leg muscles. He adjusted himself again, but Marguerite didn’t seem to mind at all. He was sitting very close to her shoulders, feeling every movement of her legs. He tried wobbling with her like he saw some people doing in London and back in America. It was no easy task. He wobbled too far and had to correct himself constantly, which had his muscles protesting in the most painful way.

He hadn’t noticed when the chatter stopped, but he did notice Jacob’s warm breath close to his ear. “Are you alright? Do you want to get off and walk?” the gang leader asked with the quiet sincerity Ned was beginning to think was reserved solely for him. He shook his head, not turning to address him. He wanted to rest, of course, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to follow them on foot. 

“If I get off I don’t think I’m getting back on,” there was no further comment. They continued down the path, flanked by trees. The trees were old, wide trunked and moss covered, and some even hung with fruit. Ned reached out for a branch of a pear tree overhead, but missed and watched the fruit pass by. A second later, there was one of the green fruits in Jacob’s gloved hand being pressed into his. He curled his fingers around it, sparing a glance over his shoulder. “Thanks,”

Jacob beamed at him, like he’d received some sort of praise. “Don’t eat it too quickly. Evie brought a picnic,” A closer look at Dame Frye’s saddle showed that she’d strapped a wicker basket to the back of it. A cute and simplistic thing, complete with a bright ribbon tied in a bow to hold it shut. He pulled a watch from his vest pocket, quickly checked it before closing it again. It was nearing five o’clock, too late for a picnic, unless it was meant to be their dinner.

He shoved the pear in a pocket with the flask he’d brought the best he could. It weighed down on his blazer as if it wanted to gently remind him of its presence. “Are you two trying to spoil me?” yes, he was joking, but it did kind of feel like an elaborate way of being buttered up. “Did you two break something and this is your way of begging me to help you fix it?”

Dame Frye laughed, a lot louder than he expected her to. “No, Mister Wynert, we haven’t broken anything. I told Jacob I wanted to see something from our childhood and he suggested we make an evening out of it. It's rude _not_ to bring our guest,”

Ned conceded that good old politeness trumped anything nefarious, or particularly begging-for-resources-y. It would be a supper picnic with friends and a particularly sweet adventure. He’d seen so many of their shared memories over the course of the week and a half they’d been in Crawley. They had so many things to share as kids. So many pieces of their life happened together, with each other. He wasn’t entirely sure if he should be jealous at how easy it was for them to share things like that with each other, or if he should be relieved he got the chance to strike out on his own. “I’m glad at least one of you has proper manners,” he joked, earning a soft dig into his ribs from Jacob. He jumped and elbowed him back, but missed. The horse wasn’t too pleased about the sudden action, blustering and throwing her head. “What exactly, are we going to see?”

“Something Jacob and I practiced on when we were children,”

“When Father decided we’d outgrown houses and couldn’t train us on the church steeple,”

She threw him a quick glare before clearing her throat as if he’d made some sort of slight. _Train? What the hell is ‘train’ supposed to mean?_

 _“When Father decided we’d outgrown houses and couldn’t train us on_ _the church steeple,”_

_“Who taught you to be so quiet?” “My Father,”_

_What were you training for?_

Ned was left to wonder, once again, what exactly the Frye Twins were. If what he was gathering was true, then they’d been training from a young age. Their adeptness with all the weapons he’d seen them use—and their staggering ability to commit murder—told him their father wasn’t teaching them to be chimney sweeps. Jacob’s _thing_ with the grey eyes and surviving a back-breaking, leg shattering leap had to be a big piece in a picture he couldn’t quite see yet. He just had to figure out exactly where it fit and what he was missing. It still begged the question: what _were_ the Frye Twins, what was their real purpose and what did they know that they were hiding so terribly in plain sight? Did they know about the peculiar poinsettias? And if so, how much?

Instead of asking any of those questions, he decided to go along with the conversation’s flow. “You two really did everything together, huh?” _tactful, strategic, non disruptive, probably won’t get me very far._ He felt Jacob’s shrug more than he saw it. 

Dame Frye was the first to answer. “Not everything. We had—well, have—different friends and different goals. We spent a lot of time apart too. I did more with Father than Jacob did,” she admitted, looking softly into the middle-distance like she was deep in memory.

“But we still had to learn how to work together properly, and I’d like to think we’re not _that_ different,”

“You two are pretty different,”

There was a slight pause, before Dame Frye’s expression lit up like a jewellery store at Christmas. Something in aforementioned distance had caught her eye and Ned squinted up the path to try and see what she’d seen. “Shh! Can you hear that?” the breeze picked up into a much stronger wind. Amongst other sounds, and with a small amount of straining, Ned _thought_ he could hear the soft tinkling of bells being rung, or wind chimes swaying. She nudged her horse into a jog and let it into the trees. Jacob turned Marguerite's head and they started into the trees.

The forest that the path cut through was less dense than it looked, and was more alive than it sounded. He could spot animals darting for cover when they passed and even though the sunlight was mere coins filtering through the canopy, they could easily pass through the tree trunks. In the distance, those little bells called out to them.

They broke through the last line of trees and came into a clearing around a single, truly massive tree. It was indented into the ground, a ten foot drop into root-woven soil.

“We are _not_ going down there,” Ned declared. He did not trust that drop in any way, shape or form, especially not in the condition his leg muscles were in.

Jacob, the absolute bastard that he was, had already slid off the horse and wore a shit eating grin to boot. He outstretched a hand to help Ned down. “You aren’t. _We_ are,” Ned took the proffered hand, tried not to yelp at the hand that brushed his waist and took to bringing himself down off the horse as well. He put his foot in the stirrup, brought his other leg over then down onto the ground. Once safely on solid ground, he turned back to squint at the gang leader. “You know how little that sentence changes anything, don’t you?”

Dame Frye came up beside her brother. “What Jacob _means_ to say, Mister Wynert, is that only he and I are going into the ditch. We like to race up that tree whenever we’re here,”

“First one to the top of the tree then back on the ground wins,” Jacob concluded.

Ned gave one good look at the tree. From base to tip, it had to be at least thirty feet. The top most branches disappeared above the canopy, but he doubted they went much higher than a few feet above the other trees. It would be a hard climb, even for these two idiots. “And what is the prize for winning, exactly?”

Jacob winked at him, shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. “A snog from the valiant, dashing knight who promised to keep us safe through this treacherous forest,”

Ned scrunched his eyes shut and suppressed a laugh. What would a conversation with Jacob Frye be without some stupid joke? He was flattered, really, and a stupid joke required a second one in turn. He opened his eyes and looked Dame Frye up and down. “I hope you don’t mind a kiss, Dame Frye. I hope Sir Green won’t mind too much either, seeing as your brother won’t be getting one,”

Dame Frye took in Jacob’s look of mock offence, then Ned’s matter of fact expression, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Even if I do win, I think Jacob can have it. He’d appreciate it more,”

Jacob stared at her, open mouthed in shock. He gaped like a fish trying to speak, before pressing his lips together and turning his head away. “If you won’t fight fair…” he murmured, turning on his heel and darting for the ditch. Dame Frye made a strangled noise before bolting after him. Ned watched them disappear over the side of the ditch. They were out of sight for a few seconds before reappearing near the base of the tree, neck and neck. They’d barely started climbing when Jacob halted for a second, hanging off of a knot in something akin to a crouch, then launched himself in a leap that had Ned holding his breath. He was soaring through the air, reaching above him. He caught hold of something Ned couldn’t see, his body not even jolting with the sudden stop. Dame Frye must have gotten the same idea, because she was crouch-leaping for the same handhold. They were still for a few seconds, before the Dame was leaping for the next handhold. Jacob, it seemed, had other ideas. He moved sideways, reaching for a branch and pulled himself onto it, taking to climbing the tree that way. He leapt from branch to branch, barely stopping for balance. Dame Frye was slowly losing her spider-tactics advantage. She heaved herself into the fork of two branches and quickly ascended one as Jacob made for the other. They were neck and neck again all the way until they disappeared from view, up above the canopy. Ned was loath to move, only just remembering that he needed to breathe. He stared expectantly up at the top of the tree, crossing his fingers. If he was honest, he kind of wanted Jacob to win. Then he could blame the celebratory kiss on the brit and not on the fact that he did actually want to kiss him again.

The twins reappeared soon after that thought, just not in the way he imagined.

He caught one black-and-white blur rush past the foliage, plummeting toward the ground in a murderous fall. Holding the breath he’d just gotten back, he followed the object—Jacob, judging by the size—as he fell through the air. He leaned forward, turning slowly onto his back. _Oh god Jacob what are you doing?_ Unfazed in the slightest, he spread his arms wide and even _laughed_ as he fell to the earth. There was an airy thump then the sound of rustling leaves. A split second later, another figure—Dame Frye, in an uncharacterised display of idiocy—fell, flipped and disappeared into the ditch.

Ned, too shocked for words, bolted toward the cliff edge. They had to be dead. No one could survive a fall like that. God they were _stupid._ Why couldn’t they climb back down? Why did they kill themselves? What had just happened?

Ned skidded to a halt at the lip of the drop, standing straight to peer over it. Heart beating a staccato, he had to take a minute to process the sight beneath him. Dame Frye and Jacob, brushing leaves from their clothes. No broken bones, no joints sticking out where they shouldn’t be. He couldn’t even see a bruise. They lingered by a pile of fallen leaves that had gathered into a little dugout

_How the fuck?_

Jacob must have caught sight of him, because he held up an arm, a stupidly enthusiastic smile on his face. Ned grit his teeth, bit the inside of his lip and waved back. He had to take a deep breath, calm his racing heart. _How did you survive that? How the_ hell _did you survive that fall?_

The Twins walked together, toward the cliff and began the climb back up unhindered. Ned stepped back to give them room, frantically scanning Jacob for any less obvious injuries as he clambered onto higher ground. “If Evie tells you I cheated, know that she’s a bloody liar,” he said, watching his sister climb up beside him. “The only rule is no pushing and dear sister I did not push you,” the only injury he _did_ have was a small cut that extended the length of his cheekbone and was barely bleeding at all.

Dame Frye blew a few strands of hair out of her face. “Taking to the branches in a race is unfair and you know it,” she grumbled, something Ned never thought she’d do.

Ned sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. They weren’t taking this seriously at all. “You two could have _died,_ ” he reprimanded. _Why am I telling them this? They almost die every day_. “I just- are you both okay?” he couldn’t force the image of Jacob—both their bodies, broken and crumpled in a ditch out of his mind.

The two of them shared yet another look—they did a lot of that—and then looked back at him. Dame Frye looked unsettled, or upset, as if she’d done something wrong and had only just realised. Jacob looked downright repentant, as if he’d made some grave mistake. He reached out to take Ned’s hand in both of his own. “Ned I- it’s a little hard to explain, but—”

“We’ve been doing this our entire lives, we’re something like immune to falling from high places,” Dame Frye finished for him, a short flash of panic in her eyes. Ned chose to ignore it, glancing down at where Jacob had his hands. He was wearing gloves, but warmth radiated from them like a furnace, proof that he was alive and well. Strong, steady hands, ones that had probably never failed him.

Ned lowered his other hand to rest on top of Jacob’s. “Right sorry, I-” he took another deep (steadying and rather shaky) breath. “I don’t know many people who can survive a fall like that. Y- please don’t scare me like that again,”

Jacob let go with one hand and tilted Ned’s chin up to meet his eyes. Remorse and fear and worry filled them, overflowing into something palpable. Ned hoped his own gaze conveyed the amount of concern and forgiveness he felt. He hated seeing Jacob so scared to hurt him.

The moment was interrupted by a bluster from one of the horses. Ned and Jacob broke their gazes to stare at the offending animals. Ned let himself laugh at the absurdity of it, his shoulders slumping. He caught Dame Frye walk toward her horse, before he locked eyes with Jacob again. If his earlier expression didn’t quite convey the forgiveness he wanted to bestow, another way would have to do. He lifted himself on his toes, leaned in and placed a kiss on the other man’s cheek. There was a surprised, but otherwise delighted look in Jacob’s eye, before Ned detangled their hands and joined Dame Frye at the horses.

“I’m sorry too, Mister Wynert. I may have forgotten that some of our friends don’t know how much Father taught us as children. And, haven’t watched us jump from that high before,” The other Frye Twin admitted. Ned had to blink a couple of times to process the information. Was this the first time _he_ was hearing about this? Or, seeing it? If they _could_ jump from that height, then getting to meeting with friends around London would be terribly efficient. He then figured that he’d never seen this particular ability because their interaction all started inside his office.

“I know now. I’ll focus on that as the main thing,”

He didn’t ask about their Dad’s teachings, that wouldn’t go down well. However his stomach did rudely grumble. He came around the horse’s side, giving it an appreciative pat and getting to untying the ropes holding the basket to the saddle. Hefting it off the back of the horse, he walked past the beast once more to place it on a flat, uninterrupted bit of grass. The Twins joined him and in no time they had a blanket laid out, bowls of water for the horses, and the chicken they somehow had time to roast set and ready for cutting. They got a plate each and Ned was content simply using his fingers to pick at the meat.

“You know,” he said, swallowing a last little bit. “I can’t believe you two have been sitting on this place for a year and a half,”

Dame Frye cast her eyes up to the sky, looking both contemplative and wistful at the same time. _I really got to find a word better than ‘wistful’._ “If we knew you would have liked it so much, we might have told you sooner,”

Jacob put a curled finger to his lips, then made a ‘wait’ gesture. Ned watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, only a little mesmerized by the simple action. “I certainly would’ve waited until we had the time to come back. I wanted to be the one to show you around,”

If Dame Frye was embarrassed by how devastatingly cute her brother was being, she didn’t show it. “What about it do you like the most, Mister Wynert?”

What _did_ he like the most about it? It was small and quiet, and he supposed he could get restless here. But that restlessness was superseded by something else. “It feels like home. Not New York, but _home_ ,” he shrugged and dug his flask from his jacket, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. A sweet, fruity taste hit him before a slight alcoholic burn in the back of his throat. It wasn’t as vicious as he liked it, but it was a good taste. 

Jacob snorted at him, to which he raised a single eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

“I can't believe you brought a flask with you,” he chuckled, leaning his chin on his hand.

Ned scoffed. “It’s convenient, what do you want from me?” he glanced at it, before holding it out to the man. “You want some?”

Jacob regarded it for a moment, then grabbed it and took a hearty swig. Eyes wide in surprise, he took another swig, big enough to finish it. Ned squaked but Jacob ignored him, holding it in front of him as if bewildered by it. “What _is_ that? Why do I recognise it?”

Ned wasn’t exactly sure. It tasted like wine, but nothing like any wine he’d ever had. All he did know was that the peculiar poinsettia tasted _very_ good. “I’m not sure. It’s wine, I know that. I think it’s a mix between dandelion and strawberries,”

Jacob gestured at him, nodding along. “I’m definitely getting fruit…wine…” his face dropped, and so did the flask. Ned swore, but let it fall to the blanket in favor of being concerned about Jacob’s confused and wary expression. “Strawberry wine?” he blinked a couple of times, before coming to some sort of epiphany. “Oh shit,”

Dame Frye noticed something was properly wrong at the same time Ned did. She sat up straighter and furrowed her brow. “Jacob what is it?” her brother’s face was full blown terror now, and he pressed a hand to his stomach like it was hurting him.

“Ugh…Oh I’m gonna be sick,” he blurted, getting up from his seat on the ground. His chest heaved and he grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. Ned leapt up with him and saw Dame Frye join them. Jacob swayed and the two of them, as if sharing the same panicky thought, rushed to his side. Ned positioned himself under Jacob’s arm, placing a hand on his chest to keep him upright. His face was rapidly paling and beading with sweat, but his eyes, flat and storm-cloud gray, were wide and fearful.

Ned took his hand and gently squeezed it.“You’re okay Jacob, we got you. Your eyes- what’s wrong?” they’d done this before, but they weren’t _this_ color grey. This grey couldn’t be any good. He looked to Dame Frye, hoping she’d give him something at least. “Has this happened before? Can he not drink flower wine or something?”

Now it was Dame Frye’s turn to look fearful. Her eyes snapped to meet Ned’s, her stare one belonging to a bird of prey or an angry governess. “What was in that drink?”

Ned’s gaze darted to the flask, then back to her. Before he could reply, Jacob groaned again, slumping further forward. “Edensflower,” he told her, turning his head as far as he could—which wasn’t very far. Ned didn’t recognise the word, but didn’t think now was the time to ask. _What’s wrong with you?_ “Evie…vision…” he sucked a breath in between his teeth and swayed again. Ned pushed on his chest to steady him, squeezing his hand once again. His heartbeat was so fast, but so faint. Ned couldn’t help but worry if he’d just poisoned him.

“We have to get you back to the house,” she said, already guiding the three of them toward the horses. “Can you sit on a horse if we lead it?” Jacob struggled to nod and she nodded back Her attention turned to Ned. “Are you too sore to walk back to Crawley?” he shook his head. As much as his ass muscles were protesting, Jacob was so much more important. Ned’s inability to ride would just confuse the horse and put both of them at risk.

In tandem, they led Jacob onto Marguerite, before they got to hastily packing away the picnic. She attached it to the back of her horse, mounted the animal and began walking into the trees. Ned grabbed onto Marguerite’s reins, leading her to follow the Dame. The floor of the woods was more littered with roots and trip hazards than Ned realised. He spent half his time watching Jacob to make sure he wasn’t falling and the other half picking through the mess and trying not to trip.

It wasn’t until they reached the road and the little bridge was just in sight that he heard Jacob mumbling. He was faint and strained but he was unmistakable. “N-Ned,” he stammered. Ned looked up at him over his shoulder, at the pale face, half awake and shining with sweat, the tires eyes that had only just returned to their natural hazel. How did he even begin to apologise for doing this to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he tried. Jacob shook his head and reached out a hand. Ned stared at it for a second. “What?”

“I don’t blame you,” he insisted, shaking his hand a little. Ned took it, giving it another little Squeeze.

He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to give Jacob that little comfort.

\---

They didn’t let go of eachother until they’d gotten to the house, until they’d gotten inside, until Jacob was tucked into bed (okay, they had to let go to allow Jacob to wash and change), until Dame Frye left to get something to bring his fever down, not even when they were alone in the shared bedroom and Jacob was making himself comfortable. The gang leader gripped on so tight Ned’s hand hurt, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He held on just as tight.

“Hey,” Jacob said as Ned leaned over him, laying a cloth soaked in cold water over his forehead. His voice was a little slurred, but it was understandable. “Y-you know you’re spectacular?”

Ned stalled, staring down at him in confusion. “What?”

Jacob reached up to press a finger to Ned’s nose. Ned scrunched his face up at the feeling of the tip of his nose being squished so hard. “Youuu are spectacular…amazing, andandand I just…” he stared up at the ceiling, looking like he was clutching for better words. Unable to find anything, he took their hands and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Ned’s fingers.

He really couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered in that moment. “Yeah, well, I’m glad I met you too,” he tried. It was weak, he knew, but he couldn’t properly do the kind of touchy-feely, tooth achingly cute declarations of everything he liked about a person. “I think you’re all those things,”

Jacob lit up like a child presented with the chance to ransack a candy store. Before he could say much else, his chest heaved and he yawned loudly. His eyes started drooping for a split second, before snapping open and meeting Ned’s. Those big, bright hazel eyes twinkled with something innocent, something wholesome, something he thought was affection distilled. Ned couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “Whaddaya want, Frye?”

“ _Jacob_ ,” he corrected before being waved off. “I want you. To sleep next to me. In my bed. Together,”

Ned flushed hot and stood straight, startled by the request. His hand gravitated toward his chest. What if Jacob noticed and put two and two together and was repulsed by him? What if he stopped seeing him as him? What if-

His thoughts were stalled by the look on Jacob’s face. He couldn’t resist the kicked puppy look. Jacob’s eyes were big and glassy and boring into his soul, asking for something he knew he should give. And even so, he’d have to mention it eventually. They’d continue down this path and Jacob would have to know the truth eventually. And he was a bit too out of it to work anything out quite just yet. Ned heaved a sigh and wormed his hand from the other’s grip to start shucking his jacket and vest. His body might betray him every time he had to wash or do any sort of extensive sport, but he’d bound his chest tightly today so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. If Jacob noticed anything odd, he could probably explain it away. “Alright, but it’s _one_ time. And I’m doing the cuddling, not the other way around,” Jacob nodded dutifully and Ned got to untying his shoes and sliding out of them too. He folded his clothes and put them on top of his shoes before sliding his braces off his shoulders and pulling back the covers to climb into bed.

The first thing he noticed was that Jacob Frye was a fucking furnace. That was probably aided by the fever. The second thing he noticed was, that for all his muscle and two-hundred-pounds-ness, he was really soft. Ned scooted as close as he could to him, gently draping an arm over his waist. He nestled his chin into Jacob’s shoulder and murmured his goodnight just loud enough for the man to hear.

Jacob fell asleep fast, and Ned laid awake watching him and listening to his breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a chapter, huh?
> 
> Boy this one was doozy to type. Thirteen full pages and I have missed so much school work. My biology teacher is going to kill me.
> 
> Thanks to Chloe and Erika for half-betaing this chapter, and thanks to you! For reading it!
> 
> I want to advise that the next chapter gets kinda heavy, with a flashback to an abusive relationship and some kinda graphic description of self harm. I'll add a trigger warning at the beginning of the next chapter too.


	19. Not Your Girl Anymore (and Never Should've Been)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the Thief gets curious and the Assassin has some explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter includes descriptions of a past abusive relationship and self harm wounds. Viewers sensitive to such content are advised to read this chapter with caution.

_“How long does it take for you to heal, my dear?” Maxwell asked,_ _eyes dragging over Jacob’s  
shirtless body. He’d just __come to the_ _Alhambra from a brawl, knowing that Roth had the boiling  
water and _ _bandages that the train didn’t. And he had something called Vodka, which_ _Jacob was  
told came from Russia. Russian or not, it did wonders for _ _cleaning wounds._

 _“This should all be cleared up by next week,” He said, trying his best to_ _ignore the sting of the  
alcohol. “I’d be surprised if it_ _takes any longer than_ _that,” Max sidled closer to him, tracing a thumb  
dangerously close to a _ _meaner looking gash on his shoulder. Jacob didn’t flinch. He’d been told  
_ _never to flinch before and didn’t particularly want to be caned again._

 _Roth’s thumb trailed over the wound, smearing gluggly, half dried blood_ _over the skin. Jacob’s breath  
stalled and looked at the hand. “I should _ _make you keep this,” Roth murmured, stalling his hand as well._

 _Jacob swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. He really didn’t want_ _to try and recover from an  
infection. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” _ _He grabbed the vodka and drenched the folded  
handkerchief. The poor __thing had turned pink and reeked of alcohol. “If it gets infected I won’t be_ _much  
of an Assassin. I’ve never seen an active one without an arm,” he _ _swatted_ _at Max’s hand and wiped away the blood._

 _“Then why do you do it to yourself?”_ Max asked, slotting himself in between Jacob’s shoulder and neck. _“Tearing open your glorious skin, throwing yourself headfirst into this little dalliance with Wynert,”_ the ghost of a kiss was planted on his skin, and the memory of a hand cupped his cheek. _“He’ll only infect you, you know,”_ another ghostly kiss. Jacob cast his eyes to the floor. _Wait. This is all wrong._ He should be perched on the counter of Roth’s little private kitchen, not nestled in the corner of a wooden floor. He shouldn’t be holding a knife. He shouldn’t have so many cuts on his arm. He vaguely remembered the feeling of a blade slowly drawing over his arms, over and over again, in all the places they were all those months ago. Did he do this to himself? _“Isn’t he the one who poisoned you?”_

He shook his head and fought back the rising urge to whimper. He was tired and bleeding and his stomach still hurt and his headache throbbed worse than a hangover, but he still had his good sense. Ned didn’t _know_ that he was an Assassin. Ned didn’t know about the Pieces of Eden. He didn’t even recognise the seal or the sign off on those letters. They’d worked together and Jacob knew, he _knew_ that Ned wasn’t like that. Ned didn’t mean to hurt him. “Wynert- Ned’s been good to me. He didn’t know what he did, he doesn’t even know I’m an Assassin. He couldn’t have known what that flower does to me,”

 _“What’s to say he doesn’t? There’s plenty he hasn’t told you. He could be a Templar for all you know,”_ Jacob scrunched up his face and pushed Roth away. Never one to be deterred, Roth crouched in front of him, scarred face covered in ash, gaping stab wound scorched black and withered. _“I was always honest with you, wasn’t I? I didn’t poison you, I didn’t lead you right into danger that I couldn’t get you out of. Maybe if you keep down this road we’ll be together again sooner rather than later,”_

Jacob shrunk against the wall and diverted his eyes, but felt the memory of a harsh grip on his cheeks and his head instinctively snapped to meet Roth’s gaze. “H-he’s not a Templar. He has every right to keep his secrets and—” the smell of smoke choked his lungs again. He shut his eyes tight and pulled his knees close to his chest. He was supposed to be over this by now, it was almost a year ago. “I don’t _want_ to be with you anymore,”

If Roth was real, he’d probably slap him for acting like such a child. The sting didn’t come, but the gravelly chuckle hurt just as much. _“Don’t be ridiculous, you loved our time together. And when Wynert drops you to the curb I’ll be there for you like I was when your sister did the same. I’ll be free to flaunt you like you deserve, free to mark you and fuck you and own you. I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine,”_

“I’m not _yours_ anymore, Roth!” He exclaimed, a little too loudly. There was a silence, a moment between one and the next where Jacob realised what he’d done. The quiet stretched and stretched and that was the moment he knew he would live to regret such an outburst. He could hear footsteps outside the room and he whimpered, curling in on himself. Blood gushed down his arm and dripped onto the floor in unpleasantly warm streams. A bird he’d only been vaguely aware of stopped chirping. The steps grew louder. _Why did I have to say that? I’m fucked I’m fucked I’m fucked._ He felt around for the kukri on the floor, covered in his blood. Brandishing it would only make things worse, he knew, but it made him feel better.

The footsteps stopped at the door, and Jacob held his breath as if it would hide him. “Jacob?” Roth asked. But it wasn’t Roth’s voice.

He jumped right out of his skin anyway and dropped the knife with a clatter that only made him flinch further. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said it, please-”

The steps came into the room, but they didn’t come beside him. Their owner took a deep breath that wavered just a little bit like an extended gasp. It was shocked, not angry. “Jacob…” they—he said. Jacob whimpered again and covered his eyes with his bloody hands. “Jacob, what are you- who are y- hey, can you look at me?” the request was gentle, but it made him whimper again anyway. _It’s not Roth. It’s not Roth. It’s not Roth._ It was Ned, he knew that. But Roth was still in the room. Roth was there, Jacob could feel him, waiting for him to slip up and say something so he could hurt him again. “Jacob, you don’t have to look, or move, but can I come sit next to you? I have to take a look at your arm,”

Jacob couldn’t speak. He opened his mouth, but his throat tightened every time he tried to form any real words. He had to calm down. Taking the deepest breath he could and ignoring the hitches, he slowly removed his head from his eyes. He turned his head to look at the speaker—Ned—and let himself nod. Ned held out a hand and took a few tentative steps toward him, before stopping and gauging Jacob’s reaction. The Assassin simply stared at him through strained eyes, hoping that if he focused on Ned, Roth would leave him alone. Ned started toward him again, before slowly dropping to a crouch. Jacob watched him mutter something under his breath about the cuts, but refrained from reaching out to touch them, which was a relief.

“These aren’t too deep, I think. They don’t look that bad. What are the ones on your other arm like?” it was gentle, not accusatory. Not trusting himself to speak, he reached up to point up at the cut on his shoulder, the two on his bicep, then turned his arm over to expose the one on his forearm, close to his elbow. There were a few of them, all made in a fit of frustration at his weakened condition, but they weren’t deep. He’d been angry, not stupid. That anger had probably been what had summoned Roth’s memory in the first place. “You probably won’t need stitches,” he nodded in acknowledgement, and Ned’s eyes flicked to the bottle of bourbon he’d left on the floor. It was no vodka, but it was the same stuff Father used to clean their scrapes and cuts and stabs when they were just children. Jacob had dug it out from under his bed, where he left it last year. Ned reached for it and pulled the cork out, before grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket. “I’m going to clean them, okay?” Jacob nodded again and Ned doused the cloth with the foul-smelling brown liquid.

They spent the next little while in silence, Ned gently wiping at the cuts on Jacob’s skin, Jacob letting the sound of his thief’s breathing calm him down. The silence was patient, and Ned made it obvious that he didn’t expect Jacob to speak until he was able. There was an occasional little hiss or whine or whimper at the sting of the alcohol on the wounds. But that was it.

As Ned finished cleaning the cut on Jacob’s forearm, the Assassin took a shaky, steadying breath. Pulling himself from the frightened haze was a chore, like wading through a lake of treacle. The throbbing headache only made things worse. “I’m sorry,” he began, surprised at how level his voice was considering the circumstances. 

Ned looked up at him from under his brow, face cool and considerate, but Jacob caught the relieved slump of his shoulders. “For what?”

“For ruining your hankie. And for, um, scaring you. And—”

“It’s fine, Jacob, I’m not scared, just—” Ned interrupted, drenching the cloth again. Jacob twisted his arm to expose the cuts on his bicep.

“Worried?”

“Damn right I’m worried,” he hissed. His angered tone made Jacob flinch, made him want to curl in on himself. He must have noticed, because he stalled and gave a little sigh. But there was something behind his eyes, something palpable.

“You shouldn’t be,”

If Ned had soothed himself earlier, Jacob’s dismissal angered him again. “Why not? I hear you yelling, there’s a knife in your hands and you’re covered in blood. Why the hell shouldn’t I be worried?” he all but snapped. 

Jacob flinched again, but held his ground. “I’m just… testing something,” his eyes flicked to the cut on his forearm, beginning to well with fresh blood. “I appreciate the help but I promise it’s not anything serious,”

Ned curled his lip, but kept working. “Do I want to know what you’re testing?

 _Not unless you want to hear all about the brotherhood._ “I don’t think you do,” 

“Alright, then I don’t,” Jacob shifted, glad that Ned didn’t press him. But something nagged at the back of his mind. He should tell Ned about his gifts. Save him the trouble and confusion of knowing the Frye Twins—Or possibly liking Jacob—without knowing the whole truth. It was unfair that Jacob couldn’t tell him. He _wanted_ to tell. So what was stopping him?

“Thanks,”

“Can you tell me who you were talking to, at least?” there was a pause as Ned shifted to the wound on his shoulder. “Who made you that scared?”

If Jacob didn’t know any better, or even if he did, he’d say there was vengeance in Ned’s eyes.

He pressed his lips together. This would be even harder to explain. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Not particularly,”

“Neither did I,” _Not until Roth._ “But um… I was talking to a man I killed.”

“That narrows it down,”

“You don’t need to worry about it,”

Ned heaved a sigh through his nose, before standing up, slightly over Jacob. He tangled his cleaner hand in the black locks of his hair. “Stop telling me not to worry damn it!” He met Jacob’s eyes, his own full of emotion. Sadness? No. It wasn't disappointment either. He almost looked pleading. “Don’t you get that I care about you?” he turned on his heel and tossed the handkerchief into the washbasin, letting it roll off his fingers with an unceremonious _splat_. “Did you two think to bring any bandages with you?”

That statement really didn’t narrow it down. He probably killed a minimum of fifteen people in a week. “In the bottom of my suitcase,” he doubted the ones in the bottom of their shared drawers would be very clean after a year and a half of sitting there. Ned grabbed the case from where it was sitting next to the chest of drawers and put it on Jacob’s bed to rifle through it. He grabbed a couple of the rolls, the little pincushion Jacob brought with him and a pair of scissors, crouching beside the Assassin and getting to work bandaging his wounds. Jacob wasn’t sure what to make of the declaration of…care? It caught him by surprise. He didn’t expect Ned to care quite that much, even after the kissing. And the hand holding. And the cuddles. Even with all that attesting to Ned’s care for him, he couldn’t bring himself to give up and be fully vulnerable with the thief. “I swear, Ned, I’m fine. I get cut up like this a lot,”

“Jacob, if you were fine, you wouldn’t be in the corner or screaming apologies when someone comes into your room. Stop being an idiot and let me care about you,” He paused, looking like he’d just said something he regretted. “Are you gonna tell me who it is, or is it someone that I don’t know?”

Jacob cast his eyes down in the face of a wave of embarrassment. Those two months weren’t his proudest moment. What would Ned think about his rather odd—and slightly, probably insane—literal and figurative bedfellow? _“Tell him darling. Watch him squirm at whose whore you were,”_

“Maxwell Roth.”

Ned stalled again, eyes wide and full of something that Jacob thought was barely contained terror. He gaped for a bit, frozen in place. Jacob wasn’t sure if he was going to answer for a second. “ _Roth?_ You killed Roth?” his brow furrowed and he stared at nothing in particular. “That can’t be right. Roth died in that fire at the Alhambra. He killed himself and all the poor assholes who bought a ticket to his show,”

 _“Go on, boys! Toast ‘em!” He cried. the Blighters standing beside Roth_ _inhaled deeply. Jacob saw partygoers who’d  
previously thought this show _ _was all a touch of fun realise just the danger they were in. They weaved_ _through the  
crowd, away from the stage and toward the exit. Others simply _ _didn’t notice, too fascinated by the show. The  
Blighters breathed out, _ _expelling jets of flame at the set pieces—paper and dry-as-a-bone wood._ _Kindling designed  
to catch. And catch it did. It wasn’t long before the stage _ _caught fire, before the flames jumped to the curtains and  
climbed up to the _ _balconies. Roth’s adored Alhambra, his pride and joy, would be reduced to_ _ash in a matter of seconds.  
People were screaming now, and had started __flooding toward the doors. Jacob thought he could already smell burning_ _hair.  
“Burn! Burn! BURN!” _

“He killed them. I killed him,”

“You set the fire?”

“No! I killed him after he set the fire,”

 _Ignoring the growing smoke and taking on the screams, letting the blind_ _rage fuel him, Jacob cut the rope just under  
Roth’s foot. The Blighter’s _ _laughter was cut short when the slipknot tightened around his ankle and pulled_ him into the air.  
 _He was yanked up toward the ceiling, coming to_ _a stop just above the gangway Jacob was standing on. The Assassin  
_ _pulled him over the railing, slammed him onto the wood at his feet,_ flicked his wrist and drove his hidden blade into  
the man’s neck.

 _Roth coughed and spluttered, struggling to speak for his ruined vocal_ _chords. “Darling, What a night! The stuff of Legends…”_

He could tell Ned found that hard to believe. He muttered something Jacob wasn’t focused enough to hear, before getting back to bandaging him up. “I can see how killing Roth would be strategic, being your rival gang leader and all, but why wait until that night? Why not do it earlier?”

 _Because I was infatuated with him._ “Because I thought we wanted the same things. We were working together to take down Crawford Starrick, but I found the way Roth wanted to strike was too dangerous for the people of London—people like you. He had to die,”

“You and Roth? Together?” Ned scrunched his eyes shut for a moment, confused. “Wait— Starrick? The alcohol mogul? Owner of Starrick Brewing Company? That Starrick?”

“Yes, that Crawford starrick,”

He had to take a moment to process, reaching under his glasses to rub at his eyes. Jacob realised that maybe telling him this was a bad idea. The whole conspiracy sounded insane to an outsider. He probably thought he was a murderous madman. “Roth was pure chaos, and the world is so much better off without him, but I don’t see why he’d want to go after a businessman that had nothing to do with him,”

Jacob wished he could ask the same question, he really did. But he knew better. “Because Roth was an Anarchist, Ned. He watched Starrick’s friends drop like flies and saw a golden opportunity to cut ties with the last man holding him back,”

Ned released a small, strangled, confused noise. “Wha- I-I don’t get it. You say that like Starrick was Roth’s superior. And- Why would _you_ be interested in Crawford Starrick? How did you know about his friends? I just- What did you have to _gain?_ ” He busied himself with the bandages again, pulling one just a little bit too tight, but Jacob didn’t complain. The poor man had a lot to process in a very short time. This whole introduction into Assassin matters probably would have been better in stages. “He’s way too far out of the Rooks’ league,”

 _Moment of truth, Jacob_ . Now he _had_ to tell Ned what exactly he was. He just had to hope that he made any amount of sense at all. If Ned didn’t think he was mad before, he would now. Another bandage finished. Ned waddled over to bandage Jacob’s other arm. _Fuck it._ The explanation was far fetched, and he didn’t have any of the evidence he needed to back it up. Evie had confiscated his gauntlet until he was maybe a little more lucid and all their Assassin-related texts had been moved to the Sanctuary after Father died. Trying to use Eagle Vision made his headache throb like he’d been hit over the head with five thousand shovels. He just had to hope Ned would believe a word he was saying, because he really didn’t fancy trying to break out of Bedlam. “I want to tell you a secret,”

There was no pause this time. “Alright,”

“It’s going to sound crazy,”

“Crazier than the ghost of Maxwell Roth scaring the shit out of the bravest man I know?” even with the joke, Jacob could hear the trepidation in his voice. Ned didn’t know what to expect. He couldn’t know what to expect.

Jacob took a second to steel himself. How _should_ he say this? For a lack of any better ideas, he blurted, “I was born and raised to hunt and kill a cult that wants to take over the world,”

Ned stopped again, staring up at Jacob and not even bothering to try and hide his disbelief. “ _What!?”_

“I know! I know how it sounds but- just listen,” Jacob begged, swallowing his fear. This was it, the revulsion. The rejection. But Ned didn’t properly react, so he took it as a cue to explain himself. “Starrick was a part of it, so was Roth…kind of. I’m—well, Evie and I are something called Assassins—”

Ned’s shoulders slumped forward, but if was in relief or something else, Jacob didn’t know. “I know what an Assassin is, Jacob,”

Jacob’s mind ground to a halt. _It certainly didn’t sound like it._ He stared at the thief, searching for something in his eyes. Recognition? Or the same disgust Templars had in their eyes when they faced off with him. Roth’s accusation pressed into his mind. _“He could be a Templar for all you know,”_ God Jacob hoped he wasn’t a Templar. He couldn’t do that again. “What?”

“People who kill Kings and Queens and that one asshold who shot Abraham Lincoln,” 

_Oh._ “No, fuck- not _that_ kind of assassin. Assassin with a capital ‘A’,”

“What difference does the capital letter make?” he paused again, mouth forming a small ‘o’ “You mean an organisation,”

Jacob nodded. “Right. Capital-A-Assassins…we’re supposed to be protectors of the people. We hunt our enemies, the Templars, to liberate the masses and hide these…well they’re called ‘Pieces of Eden’ from them, so they can’t use it on people like you,”

“People like me?”

“The innocent people, the ones who don’t know about the Templars or the Assassins or anything about Eden or…you’re precious. None of you deserve to get caught up in it,”

Ned’s pause was extensive this time. Jacob was sure that he had no real clue about this five minutes ago. He looked so confused, maybe a little frustrated. But that frustration didn’t translate into his hands, which were still gentle in their movements around his arm. Once he’d pushed the pin into the final bandage, he buried his face in those hands, fingers reaching under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I- none of this makes any sense. How does this tie back to why you’re taking a God damn knife to your own arms?”

This would be the hardest part to explain. Jacob sighed and pursed his lips. “Evie and I, Assassins rather, We’re different from normal humans,”

Ned groaned louder this time, moving his fingers to look at Jacob. “Normal humans?!”

He wasn’t wrong to be confused. But if you really thought about it, Assassins _weren’t_ like normal humans. They had so many things about them that other people couldn’t do. “We can jump from heights without getting injured and we learned to climb much faster than the other children and we can see through walls... I used to be able to be able to do that last one, but I can't now, not since that weaving factory heist. I just get a raging headache. And yesterday I scratched myself on that tree,” his hand drifted to touch the scab on his cheek. “This scab would've been gone by last night but it's not. I wanted to test if I'd actually lost my fast healing but I got frustrated at what’s happened to me and I couldn’t stop… But if these are still bleeding, then it's not just my Vision that's been stripped from me by that drink,”

Ned’s eyebrows quivered, like he’d realised or remembered something. “Seeing through walls… like when your eyes turn grey, right?”

 _Because normal people_ can’t _turn their eyes grey, Jacob._ “Exactly, except the whole world kind of turns grey and you turn blue and the Rooks turn green,” _Wait._ “When did you see my eyes do that?”

“In my office when you got that letter off that train. And at Shibden Hall. You weren’t paying attention to where my eyes were,” Ned grabbed the bottle of bourbon and brought it to his lips, taking a hearty swig. He made a face at it, which made Jacob laugh weakly. “So correct me if I'm wrong here but, you and your sister run around London, after being told by your organisation _not_ to go to London—‘cause I'm assuming this Council your buddy George mentioned isn't your actual family, terrible cover up by the way—and go after brewing-medicine-alcohol mogul Crawford Starrick because he's part of a cult??”

“He _led_ the Templars in England,”

“Right. And you two do this because you're...magic and have some duty to protect people?”

“That…just about sums it up,” Jacob frowned at the bottle, grabbing for it to stop Ned from drinking the alcohol. “You shouldn’t drink that, it’s absolute shite,”

Ned snatched it back, out of Jacob’s grip. “I need it to process this shit,” he waved his hand in Jacob’s direction and took another swig from the bottle. “Roth is dead, because he’s a—What did you call them?—Templar? And all of Starrick’s enterprises went belly-up last year so I’m going to assume you two killed him. And his friends? If they’re all six feet under in the same, very culty grave. Did you kill them too?”

“We did,” he shouldn’t admit how satisfying it was. He was a murderer, but he wasn’t _mad_ and he doubted Ned would appreciate hearing something like that. His thief was taking it surprisingly well. Usually there was a lot more rejection and distance in the first few seconds.Ned stared at him and he stared at Ned. There was an air of expectancy, a pregnant pause like something had been left unsaid, or something was waiting to be said.

“You’ve gotten this far and that’s all you’re gonna say? Who? And how?”

“How?” he flicked his wrist like he would if he were drawing his hidden blade. “We carry a blade on each wrist that flicks out and—” he slowly brought his wrist to Ned’s neck, like an assassination. “That kills you pretty quick,” he dropped his arm back into his lap and intertwined his fingers.

“Holy shit,” Ned whispered, hand coming to where Jacob’s wrist had been. “Pearl Attaway died in her train car, doors locked and the glass ceiling shattered. There was a one inch stab wound in her neck. Same with that doctor at Bedlam, his cadaver just jumped right off the gurney and stabbed him, apparently. And the governor of the bank had a one inch wound in his chest, right here,” his hand drifted to the slope of his neck, just underneath his tie. “That was you?”

Jacob threw him an easy grin and a wink. “All three of them,” Ned certainly looked impressed. He gave a low whistle and his eyebrows rose. Jacob’s grin drooped. He wanted to explain the rest, he really did, but his headache was coming back with a vengeance and he, in all honesty, just wanted to go to bed. “I promise I’ll explain the rest to you, but I just- I don’t want to confuse you,”

Ned took a second to realise what Jacob had said. “Right, of course,” he moved as if to stand again, before staring into the middle distance. “Say I do believe you, how does that affect me? Being... you know... what we are to each other and all,”

 _‘What we are to each other and all.’_ Jacob’s heart would skip a beat if it probably wasn’t already. What were they to each other? _Who_ were they to each other? Jacob would like to think they were something special. He certainly knew that Ned was special to him. “It shouldn’t. The Templars aren’t stupid enough to come after you. It would draw too much attention _and_ I don’t imagine that they’d be able to hold onto you for long,” he assured the American with a little wink.

The thief smirked bashfully, lips curling in a way that lit up the world. Or, at least, warmed Jacob’s heart. “That part’s true,”

“They are, however, smart enough to plant poison that strips an Assassin of their powers in a blighter protected factory, exactly when an Assassin was going to be there. However the hell they managed that one in a short amount of time, I'll never know,”

“Yeah well, _I_ know exactly what I'm doing with that shit Friskley and Carleton are importing,”

“What?”

“Right in the Thames,” he gave Jacob’s arms a final, precursory glance, appreciating the work he’d done. “How’re you feeling?”

Jacob shrugged, unsure how to really respond. His head throbbed and his arms ached and he was _tired._ He felt like shit. “I feel like I’ve just been thrown over a waterfall to hell in a handbasket,”

“Like shit, then. Tell you what I’m thinking,” he pushed himself up off the floor before holding out a hand to help Jacob up. “First, we get a shirt on you. Second, we get you into bed—”

Jacob wriggled his eyebrows and grinned. “—Are you coming with me?”

Ned ignored him. “Third, you get to ramble about anything you want, other than the Assassins, and maybe, I’m thinking we cuddle.”

Jacob could feel a blush creeping up his cheeks and his stupid grin spreading wider on his face. He took Ned’s hand and pulled himself up on unsteady legs, looking down at the man. “I’d rather hear you ramble about anything. _And!”_ he punctuated the last word with a playful tap to Ned’s nose. “Only if I get to be the one doing the cuddling,”

Ned squinted at him in the same way he did when he thought Jacob had something entirely ridiculous, but he didn’t drop his smirk. In fact, he held onto Jacob’s hand and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on his knuckles. “Don’t push your luck Frye,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell Roth is an asshole.
> 
> This chapter was very hard to write and I hope it isn't insensitive. I have never been in an abusive relationship and I am very glad for it. If I have gotten anything wrong in my portrayal about such relationships and their aftermath, please let me know and I'll do my best to fix it.
> 
> I promise next chapter is much lighter and more wholesome, I won't bog you down with angst (yet).
> 
> I'd like to thank Chloe for betaing this chapter, and you! for reading it!
> 
> Next up: Plans are hatched all around! (plus some domestic Evie and Henry)


	20. Domesticity in London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the Assassins debrief, the Thief hears about an opportunity too good to pass up and Tikka Masala is eaten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised things would get lighter from here, and boy do I deliver. 
> 
> I hope y'all have good dentists, because the amount of teeth you're gonna need taken out-

They’d gotten back to London that Sunday. Jacob had walked Ned home and jokingly bemoaned not getting a kiss for all the effort he’d gone to. So he was pleasantly surprised when there had been a hand yanking him down for Ned to plant a kiss on his cheek. Jacob had to leave before he had the chance to properly and soundly kiss the thief. Not that it was really appropriate to do in the middle of the street.

Who said Jacob cared about propriety?

He caught a few buses back to Whitechapel, not wanting to aggravate the still-healing wounds on his arms. Having his fast healing stripped from him, while he barely noticed it before, was becoming a major inconvenience. His arms constantly ached and undressing to clean them without showing them off and worrying Evie was hard work. But he tried his best, catching buses and cabs and jumping into Rook vehicles when he could. It was slow and arduous and it took him an hour to get from Ned’s house to the curio shop.

He hopped off at a main street near the shop, theatrically swinging his cane as he walked the rest of the way. He took a deep breath, one full of smog and horse shit and probably vomit that didn’t want to step in. Somehow, all those odours amalgamated into something so delightfully _Whitechapel_. Crawley could never beat it. He swung into the open curio shop and headed straight for the door painted with an ‘employees only’ sign. Snorting at the idea of being called an employee, he turned the knob, closed the door behind him and took the stairs to the right of it two at a time. He pulled the door at the top of the stairs open and stepped into Greenie’s apartment. 

What greeted him was the absolute vision of his sister and their fellow Assassin pressed against a wall, snogging. Or, more accurately, Evie was doing the pressing and they were both doing the snogging.

Needless to say, it wasn’t something Jacob really wanted to see. He averted his eyes and went over to the coat stand that was percularily far from the door, taking off his hat, gauntlet and coat to hang them on the pegs. Not even that noise caught their attention. This was embarrassing both to watch and to be a part of. He coughed politely into his hand to see if they’d notice him then. There was a pause in, well, kissing noises and the quietest gasp known to man. “Jacob!” Evie exclaimed with an air of pleasant surprise and cleared her throat. “You’re late,”

He spun around to face her, catching her wiping her face. Her clothes weren’t rumpled, which was a surprise, given how red and swollen her lips were. Greenie didn’t look any less incriminating. He was more dishevelled than Evie and had taken to hurriedly smoothing his hair. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” Jacob said, looking between the two of them. “You look occupied enough without me,”

Evie scowled at him, but couldn’t hide the blush that climbed up her cheeks. “Very funny, Jacob,” she walked past him to whatever was infinitely more interesting on Greenie’s wall, giving him a little half-hearted push on the way. Jacob took the hint and decided to pester her fiance instead.

“Greenie! Oh I missed you!” he made a beeline for the man and slung an arm around his shoulders, suppressing the urge to wince with the motion. “What did you do with yourself while we were gone?” Henry tried to deftly sidestep away but Jacob stepped with him for the sheer satisfaction of being a nuisance.

“I actually did a lot while you two were gone,” he gestured to the papers that he’d pinned to the wall, to which Jacob directed his attention. “I’ve been all over the city, trying to track down your Misters Friskley and Carleton, find out what exactly they’re planning to do with those shipments you told me about. And determine what they know about the Edensflower and what it does,”

Evie and Jacob’s eyes met and they shared a silent agreement that yes, they should tell him. Or more, Evie conveyed her insistence with her eyes and Jacob couldn’t see the sense in not saying something. “Jacob and I figured it out, Jaya,”

“I figured it out first,”

“Jacob ingested it and I used logic to put two and two together,”

“What does it do?” Greenie asked, before Jacob could try and correct her again. Having missing Brothers to think about probably didn’t make him want to listen to petty squabbling.

That question really was the kicker. Evie couldn’t properly answer, she didn’t have any firsthand experience. So Jacob had to answer for himself. He tilted his head to one side scrunching up his face. “Well you know you’ve taken it because you feel weak. Weak like you could tip over if the wind blew too hard. And you throw up your lunch,” he closed his eyes and took a few deep, calming breaths. He knew trying to use his eagle vision would get him nowhere but an already onset headache, but it helped to demonstrate. “And,” opening his eyes, he met Henry’s own. “You can’t use Eagle Vision, either,”

There was a second of realisation, concern, then minor panic. “A Piece of Eden that harms Assassins…”

“And _only_ Assassins,” Evie clarified. “If it was only the Eagle Vision that we couldn’t use, I wouldn’t want to concern you, but…” she trailed off, but Jacob wasn’t sure what else she wanted, or wanted him, to say.

Greenie looked between the two of them, and Jacob could feel the buzzing air around him, could see the emotion in his wide eyes and down turned brows. He was actually panicking. “But?”

“But the flower also strips or at least slows our ability to heal quickly. I’ve had,” Jacob released Henry and turned his face to show the scab along his cheekbone. “This since Thursday. Cut myself on a stray thorn climbing a tree,”

Henry’s brow furrowed inwardly now, and he chewed on his lip. That was his thinking face. That was his deep in thought face. “I should have seen this earlier,” he said, rather out of the blue. “When you mentioned your sneezing interrupting your Perception and we brushed you off. But what if you’d been poisoned? Even then?”

That was a solid possibility. If the poison came in a liquid state, then it would be easy to sneak small amounts onto letters to be inhaled by the reader, especially by an Assassin should they intercept one. It would explain the sneezing and the sudden cut off. It couldn’t be a stretch. There was no way he was wrong. But there was also no way they could have known then. 

Evie replied first. “Then the Templars are much smarter than we thought,” she drummed her fingers against her arm. Her face was drawn and distant, an expression Jacob knew well. That was what he liked to call her ‘scheming face’, reserved for mission planning and making big decisions, like which cane sword she should use to slice Lucy Thorne’s face to ribbons. The thousand-yard stare came back into the room around them. “We’re going to have to evade them before we can properly strike,” she grabbed one of the more blank pieces of paper on the wall, giving it a cursory glance before pulling a pencil from her pocket and using the wall as a support for her scribbling. “Be suspicious of any drinks offered to you, _especially_ if you find them in anything related to the Blighters. Stay in contact with each other whenever you finish any sort of assignment—”

“How?”

She paused and made the same face she did whenever she realised whoever she was speaking to didn’t share her train of thought. “The Rooks. The children make for good messengers. They may not recognise you right away but they know us and will know which curio shop we’re talking about,” 

That was a solid plan, Jacob had to admit. “What do you want us to put on these messages for the little birds?” he asked. The idea of both of these people, his sister and his friend drugged and helpless like he had been didn’t sit right. Knowing they were safe would make him feel so much better. The idea that Evie or Henry would know pretty quickly if he was in trouble was a relief as well. “And how long should we wait until we panic?”

Evie squinted at him, mouth drooping into an unimpressed frown. “Jacob, calling them ‘little birds’ has never been funny,” she chided. He stuck his tongue out at her, which she ignored. “It shouldn’t be complicated, just a message that you’re safe and healthy. I wouldn’t want you to start worrying until an hour after an assignment was meant to finish. We can’t expect the Rooks to be _that_ fast,”

“Was there a final thing you wanted to say, Mari Jaan?” Greenie asked, scrubbing at his face with a hand. Evie paused, looking unsure. _Aaaand she’s forgotten what she’d meant to say,”_

Even if she had, she didn’t let it show for long. “I was _going_ to say we have a lot of reconnaissance to do. Jacob’s been ordered by the Mentor to refrain from any direct confrontation with the Templars until he’s feeling better, so Jaya that leaves most of those missions up to us,”

Greenie didn’t seem too bothered by the loss of one pair of eyes. “As long as he’s safe, doing whatever he’s been tasked with and we’re efficient,” he turned his attention to Jacob. “What _do_ you plan on doing with the downtime?”

Jacob had exactly one idea of what he was going to do while he got the poison out of his system. “ _I_ am going to be assisting Mister Wynert with his investigation into the production of the Edensflower concoction. And reporting back to you two, of course,” 

Greenie and Evie shared a look, to which Evie shrugged. Greenie looked back at Jacob. “Wouldn’t the Council want you to keep him out of Assassin-Templar Affairs?”

 _Touch too late for that one._ “They asked me to keep working with him and see where that gets me. I’m assuming they want me to leave him out of it, but I may have to tell him if things get unpleasant,”

Whatever Greenie was going to say next was cut off by the chiming of a clock tower. It rang twelve and a half times, announcing to the people of Whitechapel that it was half-past twelve. Greenie looked more shocked than Jacob felt to find that the first half of the day had gone so quickly. He brushed past, toward the lounge he had pushed against one wall. “I have to go. I was promised access to a man’s office at one o’clock and I don’t want to be late,” he picked something that Jacob couldn’t see from the cushions before twirling toward the door leading down the stairs. He stopped toward the twins again, gesturing at Evie. “I should be finished by half-past two. Where would you like me to send a message to?”

Evie looked thoughtful for a moment. “Black Swan Yard, I believe. I’ve got word of a shipment the Rooks need me to protect,”

“I’ll be on the train all day,” Jacob told them, raising his hand beside his head. The train was probably the best place for him to nurse his throbbing headache. Trying to use Eagle Vision was _not_ a good idea.

Satisfied, Greenie started out the door. “I’ll be sure to write,” 

“Be safe, Jaya,” Evie cautioned after his retreating form.

“You should too, you know,” Jacob told her.

She arched a brow and curled the corner of her lips up at him. “Jacob, I’ve always been the more careful of the two of us,”

\---

Ned needed the walk to get the smog back into his lungs and to turn the constant noise back into ambiance. He swore it wasn’t to remind himself that pursuing Jacob Frye was a bad idea. Because he hadn’t convinced himself on the train ride to London, nor had he convinced himself on the walk back to his house. He didn’t think his reputation would appreciate having an overgrown puppy as a sweetheart, especially when that sweetheart was a _man_.

He fucking liked Jacob Frye. He didn’t _love_ Jacob Frye, but he couldn’t deny the special feeling between them.

He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Jacob Frye right now.

The universe, it seemed, was happy to help him actively not do that. He’d taken his attention off the footpath for a single second, when, from the corner of his eye, he caught a shape hurtling toward him. They were moving too fast and too fluidly to be running, much too fast to swerve and avoid bowling him over. He stepped deftly out of the way and held out an arm, hoping to grab whoever it was by the arm, or—God forbid—their waist. They glided right past him and into his arm. He planted himself, using all his strength to stop them from sailing right into the trees off the side of the footpath. Never mind that he stumbled with them for a few seconds in that endeavour. There was a hushed curse from a voice that he knew. Startled, he looked over his shoulder at the woman (he was definitely holding onto a woman’s bodice), who gaped back at him.

“Ned!?” She exclaimed, somehow surprised by his presence.

“Julie!?” He said at the same time, equally as surprised.

Julie-Anne laughed, a short sound that ended in a yelp as her legs moved of their own accord. “Ned! You’re back!” she placed both hands on his shoulders just as he released her waist. “And so soon! Two weeks goes fast, doesn’t it?”

Ned looked her up and down, not trusting her surprise. He told her he’d be back today, and she _always_ knew the date. Either she’d let summer take her sense of time from her, or…“What did you break?”

Her eyes widened, just a touch, but it was enough to be incriminating, and enough to put a little self-satisfied smile on his lips. She pressed her lips together and averted her gaze. “Other than a bottle of perfume?”

 _Of course you did._ “Other than a bottle of perfume. Though that perfume better not have been broken in my office,”

She shook her head no, which was a relief. He’d never get the smell out of the room, no matter how hard he tried. “Though I did break some of those stolen bottles from that heist you pulled with Mister Frye…” she trailed off and looked sheepish, like a little kid. They stood like that for a while before Ned gazed forlornly into the distance.

“Good riddance.” He looked back at Julie, who furrowed her brow at him. “That stuff is poison and I don’t want it to get out and hurt anyone,” okay, maybe he was exaggerating. It would only hurt two people in all of London, and from what he’s been told they do important work. But Julie looked even more confused.

“Wh- How did you figure that out?”

 _Oh shit_ . He’d just dug himself into a hole of explanation. He couldn’t tell her about the Capital-A-Assassins because he didn’t understand them himself, and he couldn’t exactly say he’d been poisoned because she would _not_ believe him. The last time he _was_ poisoned, he didn’t look this good four days after the fact. “I’ll tell you when you get into work tomorrow. Can’t a man ignore his job on a Sunday?”

Now Julie was just unimpressed. “You brought it up,”

He chose to ignore her, instead directing his attention toward the constant slight movement of her skirt against his shins. “What the hell are you doing with your legs?”

She slowly released his shoulders to grab a handful of skirt and show off her boots. Brown and utilitarian and definitely not directly on the ground. “Roller skating!” she moved her feet uncertainly, rolling backwards and away from him. Katie’s mother dug these up out of a box in her basement and we’ve all been trying them,”

The name rung a bell, but he couldn’t remember exactly what she meant. She gestured to their left, at the grass off the footpath, specifically a small gaggle of young women. One of them was more richly dressed than the rest of the group, who Ned guessed was Katie. If she could afford such a new dress, then her family probably had a basement. Ned’s house didn’t even have a basement and he lived in the Strand. “Ah. You’re out with your friends,”

Before he could pull away, she grabbed his arm and linked it with hers. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to them,”

 _So much for a pleasant walk_. “Julie that’s not a good idea,” he tried, but she was already starting toward the group. He kept up with her, not wanting to let go and trip her up and have her fall on her face.

“It’s not for that long, I swear. And you need to make new friends anyway. You can’t _just_ talk to Mister worth, the Frye Twins and I,”

The curtness of the statement startled him. “I have _friends,_ ” He spoke to all his workers. Johnny, who worked on the warehouse’s second floor, played cricket and was saving up for a trip to France next summer. Agatha, on his loading dock team, collected those language of flowers magazines so she could practice painting. He talked to people. He had friends.

Julie was unconvinced. “The people who work for you and only have fleeting conversations with you don’t count,”

A pause. “Touché,” another pause. “Hey!”

They reached the grass and Julie slipped her arm from his to lean on the shoulder of a friend. “Julie-Anne you’re going to break something,” one of them jokingly warned, reaching out to take hold of her elbow. Julie laughed with her, looking down at the hem of her skirt.

“I don’t think I’m quite right for roller skating,”

There was a ripple of laughter. “Evidently so! You almost bowled this poor man over!” another one of them scolded, resting a hand on Ned’s shoulder. His skin prickled, but he refrained from nudging her off him. He’d have to put up with the discomfort for the sake of politeness. Julie asked him to meet her friends and he was going to be polite, damnit.

“What’s your name, Sir? I apologise for my friend, if she hasn’t already,” a third one asked, the one he presumed was Katie. He could laugh. Julie met his eyes and gave him a mirthful little smile. _Well, Ned, if you wanted to show off, it’s now or never,_ he thought. He turned a little, encouraging the hand on his shoulder to remove itself and held out his own hand as an invitation to take.

She took it and he bent at the waist to kiss her hand. “Ned Wynert. Don’t worry about Miss Wentworth. I know how clumsy she can be. And your name, Miss?”

Katie’s surprised face was just a touch satisfying. “Katie Richards. You know Julie-Anne, Mister Wynert?”

“Mister Wynert is my employer,” Julie clarified as he released Katie’s hand. “Katie, if I could have my boots back please,” there was a second of Katie staring blankly at Julie before she realised what she’d been asked. She took her other hand from behind her back, producing a pair of walking boots. Julie took the shoes, murmured to the friend she was leaning on and they half-rolled-half walked towards a bench within earshot of the conversation. 

Introductions were made (Ned found out that Julie’s friends were Katie, Madeline, Ava and Lauren) and small talk ensued. All in all, Ned hated the interaction. He felt like a twelve year old boy again, being shoved into a posse of girls and expected to make friends. He didn’t know what to say to them, either. It wasn’t until Julie-Anne had gotten her boots back on and Ava declared that she heard music, insisting they take a look, did he feel remotely comfortable again. 

Julie unexpectedly linked arms with him again, and he tilted his head toward her. “I get the feeling your friends don’t like me that much,” he murmured, watching them chat more naturally now that he was lagging behind them. “Making friends with random women isn’t as easy as you thought it would be,”

His friend hummed in agreement. “Maybe randomly introducing you to them wasn’t a good idea,” he held back his scathing ‘you think?’ look. “They’re a little skittish,”

“I noticed,”

A beat. She must have been eager to change the subject. “How was Crawley? Did you get anything done?”

There was a suggestion in her voice that made Ned blush. Wouldn’t _that_ have been interesting? He cleared his throat quietly and hoped his voice didn’t squeak. “Crawley was…” _magnificent? Dreamy? Probably a dumb idea because now I like Jacob Frye more than should be appropriate?_ “Really nice. And I don’t know what you mean by ‘get anything done’,”

“Ned I’m not going to be crude about it,”

He smiled lightly. Of course she’d ask about that. “No Julie, we didn’t,” he wasn’t ready for that. He didn’t think Jacob was ready for that. Yes, he knew he liked him, and yes he knew that he couldn’t ignore that pull, that drive to be with the man, but they weren’t ready for _sex_ yet.

Julie pouted like a little school girl. “Then what was the trip for?”

Ned made an indignant noise, unsure how to respond. “I was meeting their family and seeing where they grew up and we were having fun and…”

“And?”

He shouldn’t tell her. If he told her she probably wouldn’t shut up about it. It shouldn’t be a big deal. He lowered his voice to tell her anyway. “And I kissed him,”

She practically choked on nothing. “You did?!” she hissed, a big grin spreading on her face. Ned internally groaned. He shouldn’t have said that. She would never leave him alone about it. He hung his head dramatically, squeezing his eyes shut in both exasperation and deep, deep regret. “Ned I’m happy for you! Does this mean you finally acknowledge that you like him?”

“Julie-Anne if you make a big deal out of this I’m going to dock your pay for a week,”

“You won’t,” she said smugly, and she was right. “Did you enjoy it at least?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you,”

“Mmm that’s true. Is he good at it?”

“Are you twenty-three or thirteen?”

“Why can’t I be both?”

Ned sighed. He really was surrounded by idiots. Julie got his humour and wasn’t too fussed about his job or inclinations. And she knew exactly when she was useful in a given situation. Her gossipy nature was just a bonus that he usually didn’t mind. At least it made for interesting conversation and spectacular intel.

Just not when that gossip was about him.

“Yes he’s a good kisser,” he relented. Jacob, in fact, was an amazing kisser, and Ned hadn’t expected him to give up control at all, let alone so easily. It was fun being able to make him weak in the knees like that. Kissing him was fun and the starstruck look on his face afterwards was probably the best thing Ned had ever seen. He wanted to kiss him like that all the time. “Can we change the subject now?”

Another pout. “If you insist,”

He raised his voice now that they weren’t talking about anything illicit. “Other than, you know, breaking perfume and stolen goods, what exactly did you do while I was away?” 

She gazed dreamily into the sky, the face she made whenever she was trying to remember something. “Let’s see. I managed shipping and other activities for two weeks, I spent time working on that penny dreadful, and spent some time with these lovely women. Katie told me that she’s heard Lady Loreena MacDonald is getting quite an expensive necklace from her husband for her birthday. I haven’t seen it, but—” 

Katie, apparently able to hear a conversation from two yards away, stopped and turned to face the two of them. “I’ve seen the design for it. Spinel and peridot, quite the statement piece,”

That piqued Ned’s interest. Spinel was hard to get, coming from Burma. And big, statement piece jewellery was _expensive_. Stealing it would be a good challenge, see if he’s still had the skills.

“ _I_ heard she’s going to wear it for the first time at a party she wants to hold for her birthday. There hasn’t been much said about dates but I _believe_ someone mentioned mid August,” another one, Ava, added

Ned leaned into Julie to speak quietly once more. “I wasn’t aware your friends were budding socialites,”

“Katie is mostly. She’s related to Lady MacDonald, her second cousin,” she explained. “But the rest of us _do_ get around,”

 _Now we’re getting somewhere_. “What else have you heard about it, ladies?” Hopefully they wouldn’t calm up like earlier. If he knew one thing, it’s that socialites love to gossip.

“That if a certain American politician keeps to his plan and stays in England until Autumn, he may receive an invitation,” Katie replied. She, he determined, would be his fountain of knowledge. And he only knew of one American politician in London right now.

“This politician wouldn’t be Edward Wynn, would it?”

Madeline—Or at least he hoped it was Madeline, her and Lauren looked similar—perked up at the name. “Yes, actually! He’s been here since march and everyone’s surprised he’s still here in June!” _Eddie you may be able to help me yet_

Julie-Anne made a dismissive hand gesture. “The motivations of the ruling class are something I think we’d be better off not questioning,”

Everyone nodded in agreement. Eddie hadn’t told him exactly why he was in England, but Ned was content to just leave it be. Julie nudged him forward toward the others so the group could walk and talk at the same time.

Katie looked at the two of them over her shoulder. “It’s been said that they’ll have a theatre troupe perform The Taming of the Shrew,” she said, and Ned had to physically refrain from wincing. That play was horrible and the less he had to see it, the better. 

Lauren must have been of the same mind. “Why not a melodrama? They’re far more entertaining,”

“A melodrama is too crass for such parties,”

Ned would have voiced his opinion, he really would, but they stopped at a small gazebo upon which a four piece band was playing. Around it, on the ground people had gotten into little groups and were dancing jigs and nonsense. There were gasps from his companions, which he took as his cue to leave. He slid his arm out of Julie’s and stepped back. “Well ladies, I won’t keep you any longer. Things to do, people to see and all that,”

Julie looked at him, just a little disappointed. “You won’t dance with us, Ned?”

“I think I’ll leave you and your friends to it. It was nice meeting you all,”

There was a chorus of farewells and one or two curtsies—which was new—as he walked away. His task now was to track down his brother, which would be a feat to accomplish in one afternoon. No one in London knew they were related, so he couldn’t exactly _ask_ and not seem like he was a bit ‘not all there’. And the Rooks, let alone the general populace, wouldn’t know what Eddie looked like, so they wouldn’t be able to help him. If Katie and Lauren were right, and he really hoped they were, then getting an invitation shouldn’t be hard. If they weren’t, then he’d have to either steal the necklace after the fact or get into the party some other way. 

He rounded the gazebo and started walking in the direction of the street. The party sounded like the perfect outing for him and a friend. Him and Jacob, if he could convince the Gang Leader—Assassin, if he could ever get used to calling him that—to come with him. Ned would certainly try to make it as fun and potentially romantic as humanly possible.

Who said theft wasn’t romantic?

The hardest part about the evening would be getting the necklace off the lady’s neck. Getting bracelets off wrists and rings off fingers was simple, just a little bit of misdirection and some nimble fingers did the job. Necklaces were harder, especially if it was one everyone would be looking at. Having a replica made would help, but it could be more trouble and attention than it was worth. The key would be to steal the necklace and get out of there as quickly as possible. Or move the necklace out with an unwitting carrier.

He brushed past a man standing around listening to the music and offered a quick apology. A few seconds passed when Ned heard a “wait!” and stalled, turning on his heel. “Ned?” he—Eddie—asked. Ned broke out into a smile, taking a few steps toward his brother.

“Eddie! Just the man I was looking for,” Ned told him, tapping him on the shoulder. Eddie smiled back and nudged him.

“Were you now? It’s a good thing you walked by then. I was just looking for a souvenir for Cordelia when I let myself be distracted by these street performers,”

Ned’s mind buffered at the name. He didn’t remember Cordelia from their previous conversation, and he didn’t remember one when he left for England. “Cordelia?” he asked, hoping the blunder would be easily forgiven.

“Your niece,” Eddie corrected, pulling a miniature of a young girl from a pocket and handing it to Ned. “She’s eight years old in October,”

Ned had a niece. A niece he didn’t even know about. The girl looked like her father, but with blonde hair instead of light brown and green eyes instead of brown. He supposed it was his fault, not knowing, no being around to meet her and not telling Eddie where he’d moved to. “Congratulations. I’d love to meet her, if you ever bring her to England,”

“I’ll be sure to remember that next time I’m able to cross the Atlantic,”

Ned handed the miniature back to Eddie. “I take it you’re heading back home in September?”

Eddie pocketed the portrait and shrugged. “I’d like to go home in August, but I’ve been sent a ‘save the date’ for a socialite’s party. I wouldn’t want to embarrass her,”

 _Bingo._ Ned put on a cordial smile, like he’d heard something neat or only mildly interesting. “A party, huh? What’s the occasion?”

Eddie did not buy it. “You know which party I’m talking about. I’ve seen that look in your eyes,” he accused. Ned’s smile turned genuine and scheming. Damn Eddie for knowing him. “What do you want me to do Ned?”

“The question is are you willing to do it,”

“What is it?”

“Can you get two invitations for my associate and I?”

“That depends on how much I’m going to regret giving you an invitation,”

“And you don’t believe that I just want to attend a party?”

“Not in the slightest,”

Ned heaved a sigh and slid his glasses up his nose. There was a chance Eddie would hand them over to the coppers if they butchered this job. Ned shouldn’t have come to him for help. But he’s made his bed, he’d just have to lie in it. “I’m going to steal a necklace your hostess received as a gift,”

Eddie was silent for a long time. They did this song and dance when they were younger, except then Ned had legitimate reasons for stealing precious items. Or reasons Eddie could get behind. Having an itch to scratch wouldn’t cut it. After that long time, Eddie met Ned’s eyes again. “I’ll see what I can do,”

\---

Evie twirled a sage flower between two fingers the whole bus ride from the station. Jaya had sent it via a Rook as his message that he was unharmed and out of Templar clutches. Where he had gotten it, she had no idea, but she guessed he plucked it out of someone’s garden.

“A very sweet gesture, Jaya.” she called to him in rather awkward Hindi as she climbed the stairs to his lodgings above the curio shop. Jaya, who was sitting on his sofa reading a piece of paper, smiled at her. “Sage, for good health,”

“I thought it was rather clever,” He admitted, folding the sheet and giving her his full attention. “A lovely reminder of our pressing flowers last year,”

It was Evie’s turn to smile now. She closed the door behind her and went to sit next to him, holding the flower out so they could both get a good look at it. “I’d like to wear it with me, if it wouldn’t wilt,” _though flowers are fickle, she_ thought. Maybe it would dry gracefully, instead of wilting. “I’d like to wear it with me even if it does wilt,” after a slight moment of indecision, she slid it through one of the smaller button holes on her coat. “I’ll wear it until it’s blown away on the wind,” she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then leaned her forehead against his. “Mera dil,”

“Tell me properly the reason for your messenger idea,”

She took a moment, unsure of how to form the sentence in Hindi, before deciding to switch to English. “The Templars are up to something with the Edensflower. That’s what happened to Jacob. I’m afraid they’ll kidnap any one of us and to find the Sanctuary and the rest of the Brotherhood. That concoction leaves you so vulnerable,” she didn’t want Jaya to be taken. His aversion to killing just made her scared he wouldn’t be able to properly defend himself if it came down to him killing for his freedom. She didn’t want Jacob to get any worse. Seeing him like that cut deeper than seeing him upset at her last year. _She_ didn’t want to feel like that. She had no idea what she’d do without her Eagle Vision. “In a letter, they mentioned that test subjects would be easy to find if they ‘make themselves known’. After seeing what’s happened to Jacob, I’m more and more convinced they mean us. I don’t want you to be taken, I don’t want to see you weak like that,”

He cupped her cheek in his hand and tilted her head to look him in the eye. “I promise you Meri Jaan, I won’t let that happen to any of us,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Do either of you know _where_ they’re keeping the concoction? So we can cut the head off this particular Hydra,”

“Jacob is working with Mister Wynert to find that out. I take it you haven’t been able to find anything in the last two weeks,” he shook his head and she pinched her mouth to one side. They would just have to hope something came up, and quickly. The moment after that thought was the moment her stomach saw fit to grumble at the lack of dinner, and was the moment she noticed the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. She placed a kiss on her fiancé’s lips before rising from the sofa and wandering toward the little room. She slipped past the door and drifted to the cupboard, pulling two china bowls from it. “Have you eaten yet, Jaya?”

He must have followed her from the main room, as he was hovering in the doorway when she looked. “I wanted to wait until you were home,” he admitted. She reached into a drawer for a ladle, before lifting the lid of the pot on the stove and spooning food into the bowls. “It’s tikka masala,”

“It smells amazing,” she handed him a bowl and he placed a fork in hers.

They tapped bowls as if they were drinking fine wine and dug in. As per usual, his cooking was spectacular, full of different flavours that magically come together into something nuanced and delicious, even if the spices burnt at her throat sometimes. She was always silent when eating his food, too focused on the dish itself.

After a short silence, he covered his mouth with one hand to speak. “I never properly asked you about your trip. Did you enjoy it?” He asked, reverting back to his native Hindi.

Evie wasn’t sure what to tell him. Nothing terribly fascinating happened, except for their council meeting and that picnic. She shrugged and put her fork down in her bowl, responding in the language. “Crawley was the same as we left it. Pleasant, if a bit dull, but fine. George scolded us for leaving last year. So did Mentor Williams. She even threatened to exile us, but said you vouched on our behalf,”

“I just wrote the truth of what we did last year,”

“You saved our careers as Assassins. Thank you,”

“We deserve everything we gave ourselves for the good that we did. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. What else happened?”

“We met with old friends, I caught up with some of the town women who weren’t busy with their own lives, Jacob and Mister Wynert spent time together and the three of us had a picnic on Thursday that just went. Jacob gave us a bit of a scare but I’m sure he’s alright now. George almost said too much about the Brotherhood in front of Mister Wynert, too,”

“Oh, oh dear,”

“I imagine that’s what went through his head,”

The two of them shared a laugh and went back to eating in comfortable silence. 

Once she finished, she placed her bowl on the counter. They could get the water from the pump for the dishes later. “What happened with your mission today? How did it go?”

“It was rudimentary at best. Just sneaking around and copying letters. That’s what I was reading when you came in,” he put his bowl next to hers and nudged her out of the way of the stove.

“What were you looking for?”

“Any sort of mention of the Edensflower. Anything at all, really. There wasn’t much,”

“However they’ve been keeping their secrets, they’ve been keeping them well,”

Jaya hummed in agreement. “I suppose our next mission is to find out their manufacturer and if they’re connected to the kidnapping in India,” he said that last part facing away from her so she couldn’t see his face, but she knew the slump of his shoulders and the mechanical way he lifted the pot from the circular hole it slotted into. He poured some water from a bucket into the stove to put out the fire and put the bucket back on the floor. He moved to lean heavily on the counter. He felt guilty, she knew it. He felt guilty that he couldn’t be there to help his Brothers in his homeland. It ate at him for three whole months, and kept him awake at night. It was becoming such a problem that sometimes she had to coax him into going to a fight club to wear him out and blow off steam. She slid a hand onto his shoulder as a steadying touch. There’d be none of that tonight. Tonight, she had an idea.

“I know how we can help them, Jaya. I wouldn’t put it past Mister Wynert to gave stolen more than one bottle of the poison, and I know for a fact that he has some flower pots with the Edensflower in his warehouse,”

Jaya looked over his shoulder at her, expression hesitant, but eyes shining with _hope_. “Am I thinking what you’re thinking, Evie?”

She offered him a devilish grin. “We’re going to steal some samples from Wynert Transit Company. Once we have them, we can send them to the Indian Brotherhood and give them a list of symptoms. We may just give them a new lead,”

Jaya straightened and nodded, looking away and chewing on his lip. His thinking face. “They’ll appreciate that, I think. And if you’re wrong, then we can be relieved that you are,” he dug into his coat and muttered what sounded like numbers under his breath. She should count how many smoke bombs she had too. “Do you know what security will be like?”

Unsurprisingly, she did. In addition to the odd jobs they did for Mister Wynert, Evie and Jacob provided him with a small team of about fifteen Rooks for night-time security. Added to the fact that this warehouse was only a five minute run from their stronghold at The Mint, he was effectively immune to any mid-night raids the police or the Blighters saw fit to impose on his business. 

But the two of them weren’t coppers, and they certainly weren’t Blighters. They could walk in and out whenever they pleased.

“Rooks. We’ll get in without much fuss,”

“And extraordinary powers of observation will tell us where to look,”

She nodded at him, taking his hand. “Exactly. Now we best get going, the train should be at the station in twenty minutes and I’d like to tell Jacob where we’re going, just in case,”

He kissed her, gently, chastely, a gesture of appreciation. She could still taste the masala on his lips. “Thank you, Mari Jaan,”

She laced their fingers, kissed him again and the two of them walked out of his kitchen together, ready to make some mischief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked by my editor Chloe to write how devoted Evie and Henry were to each other and I saw a golden opportunity. Everyone say thanks Chloe!
> 
> I'd like to thank her for betaing this chapter at 9:30 at night, and I'd like to thank you! For reading it!
> 
> Who missed Eddie? I thought he'd be a once of character but turns out he's really not. I dunno how much more he can turn up though, sorry to get y'all excited.
> 
> Also a fun note: Meri Jaan means 'My life' and is specifically feminine, and Mera Dil means 'my heart'. However, in Hindi, people don't generally call each other 'my heart' as a pet name, so it's been assigned to Evie as a native English speaker trying to be cute using pet name logic she knows.
> 
> Next up: Shakespeare.


	21. I’ll Take Your Heart, But Maybe Not Your Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein invitations are read and shenanigans are had.

Soggy summer days were by far the worst. They were hot, humid and slippery, so it was hard to practically get anything done. It was hard to want to do anything, what with how sweaty one got. Jacob trudged through London on those days, hood pulled up and hands shoved sullenly in his pockets. He was too afraid of damaging his hat in the rain, so it mostly sat in the little pocket stitched into the lining of his coat.

Today he’d gone to check on one of their Strand strongholds, something about a leaky roof. It was nothing major, but small problems didn’t need much to become big ones so he promised to get a carpenter in to take a look. He’d have to have a carpenter look at all their strongholds and safe houses and factories before autumn came to make sure everything was warm and safe enough for anyone who needed shelter. It would be expensive, but it would provide at least a little bit of comfort to the poor of London.

It occurred to him as he walked that he’d wandered mindlessly onto the same street that Ned lived on. In fact, he could see Ned’s house, nestled between two others. From miles away, anyone could see the cheery yellow awnings that surprisingly matched the creme interior and kept the window flower planters out of the worst of the rain. Jacob let out a heavy sigh. He couldn’t go in there. He really shouldn’t. He told Evie he’d be back by three o’clock and he didn’t want her to worry over the fact he’d gone missing. But he was here. At Ned’s house. The idea of seeing the American was more appealing than it should be. It was a Sunday, so he should be home. Or at least, Jacob hoped he’d be home.

The urge to see his… whatever he was won out and Jacob frantically patted himself down for the piece of paper he knew he had hidden in a pocket somewhere. He dug a pencil out of another pocket and was relieved to see a strip of paper rolled around it. He ducked under an awning and leant on someone’s mostly-dry window to write on.

E,  
At Wynert’s house, don’t expect me home until 5.  
-J

Now he just needed a Rook. He glanced around, searching for a signature green Jacket. He took a deep breath to allow the world to wash grey, but all he got from that endeavour was a splitting headache. Shutting his eyes against the pain, he turned around to look at the street behind him. Of course he couldn’t use eagle vision. His arms still itched unbearably beneath their bandages and he’d only just begun to properly heal. They were an inconvenient reminder of why he shouldn’t use his Assassin abilities. Once the pain had subsided, he scanned the footpath, catching sight of a green coat trudging toward him only a few feet away.

“Oi,” he called, pulling his hood off to greet them.

The Rook halted in place, looked upward and gaped. The poor boy was probably no older than sixteen, scrappy and lanky like only a teenage boy could be. He looked like he’d been bestowed some great honour once he recognised the gang leader. “Me?” he asked, voice cracking just a little bit.

Jacob dug out his wallet to present the boy with a shilling along with the note. “If you’re not busy, kid, d’you mind taking this note to the train? You know which train I hope.”

“Uh-uh- of course, Mister Frye. I know which one,” He took the coin and the note, shoving them into his pocket. Jacob grinned, wide and friendly, and clapped the boy on the shoulder.

“Good man! It gets to the nearest station in…” he pulled a watch from his vest. Eleven-past-two. “Nine minutes. Do you think you can catch it?”

The boy thought for a second. “I-I can certainly try. Where should I put it?”

“The second carriage, before the pub car. Just leave it on the lounge. Got it?” He nodded and Jacob patted him again. “Off you go then. Try not to trip,” the boy brushed past him and started running down the street. Jacob watched him disappear around the corner before crossing the road to stand in front of Ned’s house.

Despite his earlier resolve, he found himself uncertainly staring at the door. It had been two weeks since the trip. Two weeks since they’d seen each other, two and a half since they fell asleep in his bed, three since that boat ride. Would Ned want to talk to him after the feeling of a children’s-tale holiday had worn off? What if Ned thought he was disgusting for simply wanting him like that? He wouldn’t be the first. He’d be the first man, but he wouldn’t be the first to lash out after regretting a…dalliance with Jacob. He groaned and rested his head on the door. This was ridiculous. Ned wasn’t like that. Just knock, damn it.

He took in a shaky breath, straightened himself and grabbed the knocker. One last moment of hesitation later, he hit it against the wood of the door, hard. There was nothing for a while, no real response, so he knocked again.

“I’m coming, damn it!” Ned’s voice called from somewhere in the house. It was muffled to the point of being hard to hear. There were faint footsteps on the stairs, a pause then the clicking of the lock as it worked. The door was yanked open and Jacob had to let go of the knocker before he was yanked with it. Ned stood in the doorway, holding a tumbler of his whiskey and wearing a hastily thrown on waistcoat. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Ned huffed a laugh. “Jacob! Happy Fourth of July!” He said, lips spreading into a wide grin.

Jacob paused, confused by the greeting, but smiled back all the same. “Happy July fourth?” he replied, chuckling at the stupidity of it. “And how many of those have you had?”

Ned’s grin faltered and he glanced at his drink. “This is my first one,” another chuckle, then a sip from the tumbler. Jacob shook his head. He really had no idea. “On this day, ninety…three years ago, America declared independence from Great Britain and became its own country.

Jacob couldn’t hold back the sly smirk that touched his face. “And you celebrate an American revolution in the heart of the British empire?”

Ned paused, opened his mouth to retort, then shut it again. Jacob snickered at the reaction, pressing a fist to his mouth. That earned him a glare from the thief. “What are you doing here, Frye?”

“Can’t I visit a friend when I walk past his property? Must I have a reason?”

“The hell are you doing in this neighbourhood?”

“General Rook business. Checking on a stronghold. I’ve got to take stock of all the maintenance work I need to have done before Summer’s over,”

The thief seemed only mildly satisfied with the answer. He gave Jacob an up-and-down look that made the Assassin squirm, before leaning to one side to get a better look at the rain. “Get in here, you’re already soaked. Don’t want you catching a cold,” He pushed the door open as far as it would go, then stepped out of the doorway to let Jacob in. “Boots and coat off. I don’t need you tracking mud through my carpets, either,”

Jacob stepped into the entryway and shut the door behind him, then got to work undoing the buckles on his gauntlet. “I imagine you can afford to have them cleaned,”

“Having them cleaned is so much more trouble than it’s worth. I got too many things to hide,”

Jacob let his eyes drift around the room. All the bright colours and creams he guessed would be a pain to clean, but nothing criminal. Or, at least, nothing work going to the coppers about. He wriggled his hand out of the glove, dropping it on the floor. “What do you keep here to hide?” the gauntlet hit the floor and the sound of it working drew Ned’s attention. The blade sprung out and the thief jumped at the suddenness of it. Jacob jumped with him. “Shit, sorry. It can malfunction like that sometimes,” he crouched down to pick up the glove, internally kicking himself while he put it back on to retract the blade.

Ned stared at the hand and the gauntlet he was taking off, giving a low whistle. “You Capital-A-Assassins pack some serious hardware,”

Jacob shrugged, placing the gauntlet on the floor along with his second hidden blade and laying his coat over them. He then stood and kicked off his boots. “We have to be prepared for anything. Who knows who we might need to stab in the neck?”

Ned directed his stare to him, eyebrows raised in both disbelief and concern. Jacob stared back at him and they stood like that for a good few seconds. “I’m going to elect to ignore that comment and move on with the conversation,” he placed his glass on his shelf and dug his hands into his pockets. “How do you feel about going to a party, Frye?” there was a cheeky smile worming its way onto his lips. Something told Jacob they weren’t just going to socialise. If they were, Ned probably wouldn’t look as delighted as he did.

Jacob stepped away from the damp pile that was his clothes, returning the grin and brushing his fingers through his damp hair. His hat was no doubt just a touch wet, and he didn’t exactly fancy having it fall down over his face. Hopefully it would stay like that if he brushed it hard enough. “I’ll bite. Whose party are we hijacking?”

That sly grin widened. “That’s the beauty of it,” Ned grabbed his cup and walked toward the stairs. “Come on, I’ll show you,” he gave Jacob a look over his shoulder, one that he refused to believe was sultry, as he began his ascent up the stairs.

“Show me what?” Jacob demanded after his back, waiting a few seconds for a reply, then following him up both flights of stairs. His thief didn’t answer, simply turning the corner and waltzing into what was a home office. It was set out in the same way as his normal office, just significantly smaller. This floor was cut near in half, with a wall separating two rooms. Ned made straight for the desk at the far right side of the office room, while Jacob meandered toward the dividing wall. “What’s in here?” he noted the lock, big and set into the door like that of a safe. Only a damned good lockpick could get in there.

“Work documents. All the records I can’t keep at the warehouse. Illegal contracts, sales records…”

He turned away from the wall, taking a few slow, heavy steps toward the desk. “My, my Mister Wynert, I should report you to the police,” he gently rested two fingers on the edge of the table, as if to emphasise his point and joking indecision.

Ned didn’t look up from his rifling in some drawers. “You won’t,” he said, sounding sure of himself. There were two envelopes sitting on the table, written in the excessively decorated hand he’d seen on invitations. He snatched the one with his name on it from the table and inspected the white seal.

He raised an eyebrow at Ned’s tone. “Is that a threat?” he tried to match the serious, nonchalant tone, extending a pause. Even without Ned looking up, Jacob knew he felt something, a tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. One that made him bite his lip and graze his eyes up and down the other man’s body.

Ned slid the drawer in with a loud thunk, straightening up and crossing his arms. He drew his eyes over Jacob, more dismissive than heated, but the heat was still there. “I would, but I can’t exactly make you carry it out against yourself,”

Jacob raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “I wasn’t aware I was your enforcer,”

Ned only shrugged, surprisingly blank-faced despite the little twinkle in his eye. “I’m sure you’ll settle into the role soon enough,” he gestured to the cup resting on the table, next to a decanter of whiskey, because of course he had several of those. “Want some?”

Jacob stared at the amber liquid with an immense amount of caution. Evie had told him to be careful about any drinks they were offered, but that couldn’t apply to Ned now that he knew about the Assassins. Could it? ‘It pays to be careful’. “Is there anything in it?”

“Of course not. Doesn’t taste like it, anyway. I wouldn’t ruin good whiskey,”

He shrugged, figuring that it was good enough. He swiped Ned’s glass from the table, ignoring the ‘Hey!’ and downing it in one go. The burning of the alcohol hit him in the back of his throat and lingered after he swallowed, making him cough and pull a face. “Shit,” he tucked his chin into his chest and coughed some more, trying to clear the feeling. “Fuck. Oh I’m never doing that again,”

Ned scowled at him, reaching over to grab the cup. “I didn’t mean from my cup, dammit,” the cup was placed on the desk and he took hold of the decanter to pour himself another glass. “Are you gonna open the letter or not?”

Jacob looked back at the envelope—it was an actual, physical envelope, not just folded and sealed paper—and snapped the wax seal. He slid the paper from the envelope and unfolded it, giving its contents a quick scan.

Sir Jacob Frye, Knight of the Garter, is cordially invited to  
The 27th birthday party of Lady Loreena Macdonald…

He dropped the envelope and the invitation onto the floor in shock. Ned sipped at his whiskey, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Jacob just laughed. There was no way this was real. “You’re pulling my leg,”

Ned carefully placed his glass back on the table. “I’m not selling you a dog, I promise. We’ve had these invitations sent to us on Congressman Edward Wynn’s request,”

The smug look told Jacob there was something behind these invitations. Something not altogether respectable. He squinted at Ned, hoping to convey the right amount of suspicion. “What do you want to steal?” Ned’s grin only broadened. They were definitely going to steal something. “What’s the job, then?”

“We’re going to steal a necklace right off of Lady MacDonald’s neck,”

Jacob whistled low and long. It was impressive, but it was incredibly ambitious. They have to have both impeccable timing and amazing misdirection skills. But he had to admit, it sounded like quite the adventure, and with Ned beside him, what could go wrong? He perched on the edge of the desk, leaning over it slightly. “I like your confidence, Ned, but how, exactly, did you get these invitations? We’re not exactly must-haves at parties,”

“I convinced Mister Wynn to insist that Sir Jacob Frye would be a favourite among guests. Young, dashing, witty,”

Jacob was being talked up, he knew it. However, all the talking up in the world wouldn’t change the fact that he had no clue about interacting in high society. “Also isn’t very learned and doesn’t know how to interact like that with the upper class at all,”

“Work with that, be bored with them, be distant and they’ll want to impress you. I also said that you barely go anywhere without your companion,” Ned gestured toward himself. “So I’ll be able to help you,”

Jacob had to snort. ‘Companion’ was better than ‘friend’ or ‘associate’, so much more fitting for the connection they had. “So I can talk to you without being bored?” he didn’t think it was possible for him to look bored around Ned even if he tried. Other partygoers would probably be more dull than watching paint dry, but Ned could explain to him the entire history of leather tanning in England and Jacob would be enamoured.

“That, Jacob Frye, is the idea. We stick together, make it socially acceptable, and we can both make sure the plan runs smoothly,” Jacob thought there was more to it than that. Or at least he hoped there was. He wondered if they’d get to dance together like a couple who doesn’t have to hide from the law. He also wondered if they could kiss again on the dance floor, for everyone to see.

“So what’s the plan?”

Ned stalled mid sip and shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure yet. I told myself I’d start planning that job once the big one in a few days is over,” he placed the glass back on the desk. “But I’ll get back to you long before August twelfth,” that would give them six weeks to plan and practice and scope things. It was more time than he needed to plan his way in and out of a building, but Ned had been stealing jewels longer than he had. He figured he’d leave the planning to the professional thief.

“Well then, I look forward to every second of the next month and a half that we spend planning,” and that I get to spend with you. He reached for the whiskey tumbler again, but pulled his hand away at the withering scowl he was given. “I think we’ve spoken enough business. I came here because I wanted to spend time with my…” He still wasn’t sure what to call Ned. They weren’t quite sweethearts yet, were they? “Companion. I wanted to do things a gang leader and a thief aren’t meant to do in novels,”

The reference to their previous conversation put a warm little smile on Ned’s face. The kind of smile that lit up the room, in Jacob’s unbiased opinion. “Well in romance novels of the Napoleonic War—”

“The what?”

“The Eighteen-Tens, Jacob. The main characters tend to spout poetry and stare at paintings while they…I don’t know, analyse the brush strokes,” Ned walked away from his desk and back toward the stairs. “I don’t own many portraits, they’re hard to do anything with once you’ve got them, but I do have something close enough to poetry,”

He disappeared upstairs, out of sight. Jacob, intrigued at the idea of almost-poetry, slid off the desk and followed him up the next two flights of stairs. Whatever he had planned was secondary in Jacob’s mind to the fact that they were doing something romantic. They were doing something from a stupid romance book, of all places. It made him giddy, really. Like he was doing something he wasn’t allowed to do. He peered around the corner to see if Ned was on the third floor. The thief was crouched in front of a short bookshelf, back turned to the door, which Jacob took as his cue to sneak into the room and sit himself in the middle of the lounge. He leaned back, resting his arms on the back and crossing his ankle over his knee to get comfortable.

Ned stood, turned arounds and jumped at the sight of the Assassin. Jacob let out a snort as poor Ned took a moment to compose himself, before joining him in his laughter. Once they’d gotten over themselves, Ned came to the sofa but stopped, eyes flicking between the man and the furniture. “Move your ass, Frye. I’ve only got one copy and you’re taking up all the sitting room,”

Jacob, always one for coming up with better ideas, shook his head. “Come here, I’ll tuck you under my arm. We can share like that,” he even raised his left elbow, giving it a little wiggle up and down as incentive. Ned met his gaze once more and did not look impressed. Jacob sighed dramatically, making it out like he was dejectedly going to move. He stalled when he caught Ned’s considering expression, watching his shoulders rise and fall before he plopped down on the couch.

Ned wriggled into Jacob so they were flush from his shoulder to thigh. “Fine, you win,” he conceded, getting settled into the space provided. Jacob hesitantly moved his arm down to drape his it over Ned’s shoulders and pull him close. If he minded, he didn’t show it. “I hope you like Shakespeare, because I don’t feel like reading sophocles right now,”

“I don’t really care, as long as I’m reading it with you,” Jacob added a wink, grinning at the bashful expression and eye-roll he received. Ned rested his chin on Jacob’s shoulder, putting on a cheeky grin.

“It’s Romeo and Juliet,”

Jacob internally groaned. He only slightly didn’t like that stupid play. If only because he’d heard it so many times from girls who thought it was the pinnacle of romance. He didn’t understand how anyone would be willing to walk down any aisles or get married at all after one entire day of knowing each other. “Is it too late to climb out your window and bail on this date?”

Ned elbowed him in the ribs as hard as he could given the tight space. “You wouldn’t dare. Besides, I only read it to make fun of the titular characters,” he cast a look over his glasses. “Don’t look too excited,”

Jacob exhaled sharply. “I’ll try not to. But you have no idea how many of the girls my age who have tried courting me thinking this was the most romantic thing they’d ever read,”

“Did Crawley not have many other romances?”

“Mostly the rich families across the lake have the libraries with all the romance books. We had either Shakespeare or the plays we wrote ourselves, those ones were marginally better, but some were equally as trashy.” They were a mix between scripts based on books they’d read or original creations that weren’t all that bad. Crawley wasn’t the most cultured town in the world, but they made do with what they had, and did well for it.

“Trust me, rich people romances aren’t much better. All the books girls were meant to read when I was a teenager were shit. Real trash,” he flicked through the pages with his thumb, looking down at their blur. “Give me an act and a scene number,”

Now this was Jacob’s chance to be a right prick. He tried hiding his cheekiness by looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling, as if he had a big decision to make. As much as he hated this play, he knew which scene was the most romantic in it. “Act two, scene two,” there was a kiss in that scene, he was sure—He didn’t exactly remember but you couldn’t fault him for that. There was an expectant pause and he looked down at Ned, who had raised his eyebrows. He looked like he didn’t think Jacob was serious. The Assassin simply gestured to the book. Ned shrugged and his hands got to flicking through the pages. He found the page he was looking for and smoothed the book open on his knee.

“Alright then, balcony scene, but you’re being Juliet,”

That… was a new one. He’d never been told to be Juliet before, but he attributed that to always reciting this with a member of the fairer sex. Ned was no such member, and Jacob really couldn’t see him playing Juliet anyway. “If you insist. But I’m not reading her monologue,”

Ned didn’t look up at him again, simply swivelling on his arse and leaning properly into Jacob. “Yes you are,”

Alright, yes he was. But only because he was told to, not because he found it relatable at all. “Fine,” he said, tucking Ned’s head under his chin, glad that at least the thief’s hair was rather soft and didn’t annoy the skin of his neck. It smelled nice too, like he brushed perfume through it. Citrusy and bright, it suited him well. He couldn’t help but notice how easily they slotted together, like puzzle pieces. Where Jacob was all hard edges and muscles, Ned, while rather wiry, was soft and cuddly and, in Jacob’s opinion, very cute. Even if you had to get past his bad attitude to find it.

Ned cleared his throat and began reading Romeo’s part. “But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, what thou her maid art far more fair than she: be not her maid, since she is envious; her vestal livery is but sick and green and none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head?” He reached up to brush his knuckles against Jacob’s cheek. He lingered there, his cold hand a relief Jacob didn’t know he needed. “The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!” His hand dropped from Jacob’s cheek, but Jacob caught it and gently held it there.

“Ay me!” he said dramatically. It was meant to be woeful, but he was in a very woeful mood.

Ned smirked, but continued. “She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven,” Jacob had to laugh at that one. He’d never been described as an angel. It was flattering, but an odd interpretation of his job. Evie could probably analyse the connection to hell if he told her. So could Ned. For now, he just wanted to keep hearing the flattery and sweet nothings come from Ned’s lips. “Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air,”

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet,” he shouldn’t substitute being an Assassin for being a Capulet. But he knew he would, if Ned asked him to.

Ned whispered loudly behind his hand. “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose,” Jacob pretended to hold a rose in front of him, admired it as if he were Juliet and he really were asking this of Romeo. “By any other name would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee take all myself,”

Ned paused, breath shaking, as if he were Romeo himself, indecisive about whether or not he should speak. “I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo,”

Jacob jumped and gasped, grasping at his bosom. “What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night so stumblest on my counsel?”

“By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee; had I it written, I would tear the word,” Ned poured as much disdain for his name as he could, dramatically tearing his hand away from Jacob’s cheek. He let him go, mesmerised by the performance.

He tried to sound shocked or confused, tried to look like he’d been spooked and was trying to figure out who was speaking. “My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: art thou not Romeo and a Montague?”

Ned shut his eyes, or at least cast them down, that beautiful bashful smile on his face. “Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike,” he looked back up, keeping his head down and his bashful smile on his face.

God, Jacob could melt right there and then.

Instead, he channelled that affection into a curious expression, just like Ned had pulled off the unexpectedin the most adorable way possible. “How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here,”

Ned’s smile broadened like he was proud of himself and he physically turned to face Jacob now, adding a chuckle to his voice. “With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; for stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt; therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me,”

Jacob cast a panicked look over his shoulder, as if he could hear someone outside listening to them, or they could walk in at any moment. “If they do see thee they will murder thee,” he met Ned’s eyes again, staring for long enough to almost lose himself in them.

Ned’s gaze flicked to the book, then back to Jacob’s. He reached down to take his hand in his smaller one, gazing helplessly back. “Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity,”

“I-” Shit, I don’t know this line. He grasped for something, anything, that would sound like it fit and would let him keep the smitten gaze in those dark eyes on him. “I’d do anything to stop them seeing you,”

Ned barely missed a beat, quickly checking his line. “I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; and but thou love me, let them find me here: my life were better ended by their hate, than death prorogued, wanting of thy love,”

“By whose direction found'st thou out this place?”

Ned gripped his hand tighter, holding it up between them. “By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; he lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far as that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise,”

“Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek for that which thou hast heard me speak to-night fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny what I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'” _Oh fuck, this is a long line_. He darted his eyes to the page, wishing he had the ‘mask of night’ to hide his fatally embarrassed blush. Well, embarrassed and flattered. Acting as Juliet was easy when you had such strong feelings for your Romeo. “And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, so thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, and therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: but trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, but that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, my true love's passion: therefore pardon me, and not impute this yielding to light love, which the dark night hath so discovered,” he looked back at Ned again, hoping to play it off like Juliet wistfully staring into the night.

If the expression on Ned’s face wasn’t starstruck, Jacob didn’t know what it was. “Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—”

Jacob shook his head, pretending to be unconvinced, like what Ned was swearing on wasn’t grave enough. “O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable,”

Ned furrowed his brow, but a smirk touched his lips. “What shall I swear by?”

Jacob paused, grasping for words. “Do not swear at all; or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I'll believe thee,” if he poured real, true meaning into that line, if he meant that he would willingly worship this thief, this man, this vagabond, like a god, then no-one but them would have to know,

Ned seemed to catch on. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Jacob, eyes lingering on the Assassin’s lips. Indeed, he was so close, close enough forJacob to lean in the short distance and then they’d be kissing, soft and tender and not at all like they did in Crawley. “If my heart’s dear love—” Ned murmured, lips already brushing lips.

As much as he wanted it, Jacob knew that’s not what happened in the play. And who knows, maybe denying himself the pleasure now will make the satisfaction of a kiss later that much sweeter. Maybe a little teasing wouldn’t hurt. He pulled back, but squeezed Ned’s hand. “Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: it is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ‘ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! this bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, may prove a beauteous flower when next we meet,” at the last word of that line, he leaned in to kiss Ned’s forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than strictly necessary.

Ned, startled by the action, stared up at Jacob after he pulled away again. “You’re just gonna leave me hanging like that?”

Jacob smirked, taking their hands and pressing another kiss to Ned's knuckles. “It’s in the script. And I can give you an unscripted love declaration, if you want one,”

Now Ned just looked confused. “Y-you don’t think a man…loving a man like he should love a woman is wrong? Or disgusting?”

He shrugged. “If I did, then I’d have to be disgusted with myself, which I’m not,” He was disgusted by who he was in love with when he found out loving men and women romantically—and sexually, which was quite the experience—was a possibility, but he wasn't disgusted that is was possible. “I know plenty of people who would be disgusted by Evie and Greenie’s romance. We just grew up not caring about those details. I think it’s an Assassin thing,”

Gazing into Ned’s eyes was like staring into a battlefield between two emotions vying for dominance. Fear and…relief? “That’s good. I um…” he trailed off, looking away, toward nothing in particular.

Jacob, noticing the offness and uncertainty with which Ned spoke, cupped the other’s cheek. “Ned, is something the matter?”

Ned swallowed, dragging his eyes back to meet Jacob’s once more. Hesitation, fear, uncertainty. Something was wrong. “I…I’m not ready to tell you right now,”

 _Ah_. Jacob thought. That he understood. He offered a soft smile, trying to convey patience and support with a dubious amount of success. “That’s alright. You take all the time you need. I’ll be right here when you’re ready. For now though,” He reached for the book on Ned’s lap. “Do you want to make more fun of some teenagers?”

All the negative emotions washed from Ned’s expression, replaced by relief and something cheeky as he pulled the book from Jacob’s reach. “I thought you’d never ask,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How long am I gonna cockblock these two for? No idea. Will they properly admit their feelings eventually? Ehhhh give them a bit.
> 
> Thanks to Chloe for Betaing this chapter, and you! for reading it!
> 
> I'm considering starting a Ko-fi, just because I'm trash and spend so much time writing this story that it's practically my job. I'd probably set the price of a coffee at $1 USD, just because, you know, I don't think that highly of myself. I might also take oneshot commissions if there's any specific scenario you guys wanna see me write. Let me know if y'allare interested!
> 
> Next up: Ned gets some Catharsis


	22. Dinner and Diatribes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein artwork is late, realisations are had and there's catharsis all around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains one instance of deadnaming, viewers sensitive to such themes are advised to read with discretion.

Hijacking Blighter cargo was by far the most fun task Jacob’s been asked to do since he’d lived in London, second only to raiding boats. He’d always tried to pick those ones up rather than let Evie do them. He might love his sister, but they were still twins. He was allowed to annoy the shit out of her.

The horses on the cart he was driving blustered as he drove them into the gate of Wynert Transit Company’s main warehouse. The cart was filled with crates of tea, but Jacob guessed they were probably anything but. Whatever Ned wanted them for he could ask later. He pulled the cart to a stop, before hopping off and giving the loading team a little wave. He didn’t know many of the people on this shift, but it paid to be friendly. The workers responded in kind while one—one he thought sounded like Agatha—started calling orders. She was short about it, telling them to move quickly, that they were in a rush. He noticed another full cart across the yard, but covered by a length of dark canvas.

He turned his eyes upward to Ned’s office. A window had been left open, meaning the thief was most likely at work. _Deep breath, Jacob_ , he told himself, inhaling deeply through his nose and closing his eyes.

When he opened them again, the world had turned grey.

He gave a delighted little giggle, glad that it had worked on the first try. He guessed he must have properly gotten it all out of his system when his head no longer throbbed painfully as soon as he even thought about using Eagle Vision. It was still spotty, though, and he usually had to try a couple of times before he actually got it to work.

Looking up, he saw Ned’s blue silhouette moving around his office. He was moving quickly, like he was pacing or in some kind of hurry. He let the world return to colour before any type of headache decided to worm its way into the front of his head. Striding up to the wall, he began the climb and, in no time at all, he was swinging into Ned’s office window with a dramatic thump of his boots.

Ned didn’t even jump as Jacob collapsed his hat and stashed it in his coat. Instead, the American pulled his jacket off his chair and pulled it on with a bit of a flourish. “Jacob, you are right on time,” he declared, stopping to pat himself down. “Adam doesn’t share your timing, apparently,” he walked over to the doorway, grabbing his hat from the stand and ducking out the door.

Jacob watched him leave. “Where are you going?” he called, starting at a brisk pace after him. He rounded the door before taking the stairs at a jog.

Ned barely looked over his shoulder. “We’re going to steal some paintings from American Auctioneers Jeremiah and Emele Wynn for my good friend Adam,”

 _Wynn, Wynn…Why do I know that name?_ Ned had mentioned it before, when Jacob saw him last week. “Wynn? Like that politician?” he had no idea who those two were, but just saying their names had Ned…righteous? Like he’d been angry at them before. How the hell was he connected to a politician’s family?

Ned rounded the corner, his shoes light and quick on the steps. “Exactly like the politician. His Mom and Dad, in fact. When I was in contact with Mister Wynn Junior, he told me that his parents are connected to someone who’s got them smuggling a rock similar to the peculiar poinsettia,”

“They’ve got a Piece of Eden?”

Ned didn’t stop to look at him, stepping to one side to let them walk together. “I don’t know what a Piece of Eden is. As much as I’d love you to explain it, we don’t have time right now,” he leapt off the last three stairs before sauntering toward the warehouse doors. For a short man, he was fast, and Jacob had to take unusually long steps just to keep up. “We’re headed to an auction house in Westminster to switch fakes in for real artworks, and you can get a good look at this rock if it’s in the building. We send the art to Adam and you and I…” he paused once they reached the door to face Jacob, who stopped in turn. He looked nervous, resigned, like he really didn’t want to be saying what he was about to. “I’ve been invited to dinner with all three Wynns,” he looked down at his shoes, a nervous tic. He was scared. For himself, definitely. This was something he didn’t want to do. He turned on his heel and began walking again.

Jacob watched him go, confused as to why these people were so worrisome. He started after the thief, reaching out for his hand and wrapping his fingers around it. A comforting gesture he hoped would be properly conveyed. “Do you want me to come with you? Just…for moral support?” he tried to pour as much sincerity as he could into the little turn of his lips.

Ned paused and looked him up and down, considering. Those big, dark eyes usually so full of life and cunning, now reluctance and fear, drifted between Jacob and the floor. Finally, he fixed them on Jacob, a spark of something. Something grateful. “I’d like that,” they shared a look, a moment. Sincere promises and the thanks of a man hurting. Promises of protection, given and returned, before Ned pulled away and made for the canvas covered cart. “Come on, we’ve got work to do. I’ll drive,”  
\---  
They arrived at the auction house not too much later, and Ned got out of the cart to explain their arrival to the guards. “London traffic is hell, I’m sure you know,” he told them, flashing that charming smile that could melt the hearts of whomsoever he wished. Jacob’s hands hovered close to his throwing knives anyway. You never know when trouble will hit you. He watched the encounter, watched the guards’ faces as they bought the lies so cunningly sold to them. “We’ve got some extra items that didn’t make it into the warehouse with yesterday’s delivery that need to be on that floor before tomorrow’s auction,”

And just like that, they were inside. Jacob made quick work of knocking out the loading dock workers as Ned drove the horses onto the auction house floor.

There was no real time for talking as they pulled away the canvas. They’d discussed their roles on the way from Ned’s work. Ned would mark the pieces that needed to be switched and the two of them would go halves on switching them out. They gave themselves twenty minutes but had agreed it was probably better if they were out in fifteen. With twenty pieces to swap, they had to get cracking.

They’d been at it for a good ten minutes when Jacob stopped to flip a painting over in his hands and look at the subject. It was an ordinary landscape, with barley blowing in the wind, shimmering as the sun’s rays hit the stalks. There were harvesters too, bent double to attack the sheaves with their scythes. “I never understood fine art,” he announced, leaning back to try and properly appreciate it. “What’s the point of having a painting of a harvest on your wall?”

Ned looked up from the bust he was placing. “You’re supposed to look at it, Frye,” he said, as if Jacob didn’t know that. “You hang it on your wall because you think it’s pretty,” he took one last look at the sculpture before stepping away from the pedestal and toward a large box sitting in the middle of the floor.

Jacob directed a bland look at his back. “Yes, thank you Wynert. I guessed. What I _meant_ was why would you have it on your wall if you barely look at it. How often will you really, truly stop to appreciate it?”

He heard the sound of a lock working and a padlock sliding out of a metal loop. There was a soft curse, then hinges coming to the end of their rotation. “Frye we don’t have time for your philosophical waxing. Put that down, I think I just found your Eden Piece,”

“Piece of Eden. Piece before Eden,” he corrected, gently placing the painting in the cart.

“Whatever. Get over here, will you?”

He crossed the room to stand next to the thief, who had his hand stuck into the large box. It was probably a yard and a half wide and as deep as Jacob’s hip. It was full of white powder, like sand or stone dust. It shimmered when the sunlight hit it, like gold had been ground up and raked through it. He grabbed Ned’s wrist to stop him. They didn’t know what this dust could do to a man. He shook his head when Ned looked at him, before letting go of the American. He sighed and dug his own gloved hands into the dust. Pulling out a handful, he let it fall through his fingers. It gave him the same weird tingly feeling that touching the Shroud did. It was definitely a Piece of Eden. “Evie is going to burst a vein at this. Three Piece of Eden in one and a half years,”

“Why can’t I touch it?” Ned asked, pulling his hand from the box.

“I don’t know what it does. It could be dangerous,” he turned to Ned to see if he understood, and sighed at the blank look he received. “What I know about the Pieces—which is very little, mind you—is that they’re either dangerous or temperamental. I don’t want to touch it. But since we don’t have any glass bottles…” he reached into the small pocket he kept his target’s-blood-wiping hankie in, grabbed the cloth and laid it on top of the dust. He grabbed a handful and poured it onto the hankie then folded it up and shoved it into his pocket. “That’ll have to do until I can get my hands on one,”

“To do what with it?”

“Show it to Evie, send it to the Council, see if they know what it is,”

Ned stared down thoughtfully at the dust. Grabbing the lid, he stood straight and pulled it closed. “Good idea,” he reached up to pat Jacob on the shoulder, but had his watch in his other hand and glanced at it, jaw set. “Seven minutes. Let’s get this done,”

He and Jacob turned away from each other, and the Assassin absently pressed a hand to the side of his face. They were almost done here. Then he could get back to the train and hope Evie had already started panicking. He was only three-quarters of an hour late, and he made sure to send a Rook to where she said she’d be and why the hell is my face so hot? His cheek had started tingling and growing uncomfortably hot, almost like he was resting his head on a stove that hadn’t fully heated up yet. The tingle was like the feeling he got touching the Pieces, only stronger, more violent, like it was trying to strip away his skin. “Oh shit!” he tore his hand from his face, taking to furiously trying to rub the dust off his face with his sleeve.

“What did you do!?” Ned exclaimed, whipping around and looking worried.

“Figured out what the piece—ow—is supposed to do. Ah fuck,” he couldn’t stop the burning, no matter how hard he rubbed. The tingling still hung around him, like a swarm of angry wasps or bees. The dust wasn’t all off of his cheek. “It hurts,”

Striding toward him, Ned whipped out a handkerchief and furrowed his brow. “What do you mean it hurts?” he stopped in front of Jacob, almost craning to get a good look.

“It burns and tingles,” he pulled away from the hand that tried to move his arm away, still trying to (rather unsuccessfully) rub off the feeling.

Not having any of it, Ned grabbed hold of his wrist with a firm hand, doing his best to hold it still. “Frye, rubbing at it is not going to help. For God’s sake, stop,” Ned scolded, pulling his arm down from his face. He squinted at Jacob for a good while, before turning away and going to the cart. Jacob refrained from rubbing at it again out of spite, instead watching as Ned reached into the vehicle and produced a glass bottle of water from somewhere. He uncorked it, doused the handkerchief and came back to stand close to the Assassin. “It doesn’t look bad, but it’s very red,” he muttered, pressing the soaked cloth against Jacob’s cheek. Cool water ran through his beard and down his neck, a relief against the burning heat that had threatened to spread down toward his chest. The tingling calmed the more Ned dabbed at the irritated skin and the heat, while still there, abated with each passing second too.

Ned swiped at Jacob’s face one last time, and Jacob’s eyes flicked to meet Ned’s. He cleared his throat, gently touching his cheek. “Thanks,” he mumbled, noting the look in Ned’s gaze. A protective look, touching and wholesome, but protective. They didn’t exactly have time. “We should uh,”

There was a soft chuckle as Ned wrung his hankie out. “Yeah we should. Lets go,”  
\---  
Ned hated waiting in carriages. As much as he loved going on leisure rides, waiting inside his carriage as he drove to a destination was hell. He was always nervous, and now instead of pacing or jiggling his knee, he leaned his head against the window and fretted. What would he say to his parents? Should he tell them he’s their son? How would they react? How would Jacob react to hearing them call him the wrong name? Would he even take him seriously anymore? He looked at the gang leader out of the corner of his eye, sitting on the bench across from him, singing some street song under his breath. No, he’d understand. He trusted Ned enough to tell him about his Assassins and not think he was crazy, Ned would just have to trust him with his best kept secret.

Maybe just…not right this second.

Jacob’s eyes slid over to him and he stopped singing. A smirk curled the corner of his lips, one that felt like a secret shared, just between the two of them. “What are you looking at, Mister Wynert?”

Ned mirrored the smirk. Two conspirators in a crime no-one could know about. He raked his eyes over Jacob’s body, over the absolute specimen of a man he knew was underneath those fancy clothes. “Just the most incredible man in London, Mister Frye,”

If Jacob was touched by the flattery, his face didn’t betray him. His eyebrows quirked and he looked impressed. “I wasn’t aware my Father made mirrors,”

 _Ah fuck._ Ned chuckled at the stupid joke. “I meant you, Frye,” they shared a stupid smile and fell silent again. Ned turned his attention back to the window and to the city passing them by. The nights were getting longer now that they were halfway through July, but the street lamps were still being lit after six in the evening. Ned could see the sun setting over the Thames when they started to cross Waterloo Bridge. A gentle and peaceful moment in what could be a turbulent night. He shifted in his seat for the umpteenth time. This was a mistake. He knew he shouldn’t have accepted the invitation. He knew his parents were going to notice Netta eventually and spoil everything he had with Jacob. He sucked in a breath to calm himself. How could this all go so wrong?

“What’s got you so worried?” Jacob asked. It was soft, concerned. Like he was asking a little lost child. Like he was expecting a mundane answer. But Ned didn’t have a mundane answer to give. He tore his eyes away from the city lights, but didn’t look at Jacob.

“I-” he tried. How the hell was he supposed to tell him about how he was so scared? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. “It’s childish, you shouldn’t worry about it,”

Jacob reached out to take Ned’s hand in his. His hand was warm and rough but soft in its grip. He was so soft and warm and welcoming and sometimes, on bad days, all Ned wanted to do was snuggle into him and feel safe. Not that he’d ever admit to it. “Hey, I don’t care if it’s childish. It’s bothering you, and I want to make sure you’ll be alright. I want to make you okay,” he paused, creasing his brow as if he’d just realised something. “But if you’re not comfortable telling me, I won’t force you,”

Ned didn’t—couldn’t look up at him. Something twisted in his gut. Uncomfortable and writing and reminding him of the lie he was selling to this man he was so fond of. He shouldn’t lie. He couldn’t lie to Jacob. Not if he wanted to keep him around. But would he want to stay after hearing the truth? Ned breathed in again, shakily, trying to get past the tightness in his throat. The only real way to find out was to say it, even if he wanted to beat around the bush a bit more. “I’m upset because…the people who invited us today are my parents. I haven’t seen them in years And I’m scared of all the horrible, untrue things they’re going to say about me, and what you’ll think of me afterward,”

There was an extended pause. He could practically hear Jacob’s deliberation. “Ned, no matter what anyone says about you, unless you say it, it’s not true,” he said, giving Ned’s hand a gentle squeeze. “If I remember anything from my Father, it’s that nothing is true, so everything is permitted,”

Ned finally met his eyes and stared into them for any sign of a joke. “What?” no, the Assassin was deadly serious.

“It’s an Assassin thing. I always thought it meant, well I still do, but it means that no one can… put their version of the truth on you. The only rules you have to go by are your own. What you say goes. So if you say what your parents think of you isn’t true, then I’ll take your word for it,”

He supposed that was sound logic, if the saying used to express it was a little weird. _Does that logic apply to men born in women’s bodies?_ “Even if that truth will land you in Bedlam if the wrong person hears about it?”

“Even then,”

His breath shuddered as he averted his eyes again. He should be the one to tell the truth. He couldn’t give that honour to anyone else. “I-I want to tell you a secret,”

Jacob squeezed his hand again. “I’m all ears,”

It really was now or never. He ignored the writhing thing in his gut, the instincts screaming at him to keep his stupid mouth shut, to save himself. Jacob had to know. “I wasn’t born Ned Wynert,”

“Ned Wynn, then?”

“No. I was…My parents named me Henrietta Mary Wynn, but I’ve always been Ned. Even when I was a little girl—boy,” he confessed, keeping his eyes on the floor.

There it was. Out in the open. No going back now. He braced for the disgust, the lack of warmth around his hand. As if the world wanted to make him even more tense, the carriage jolted uncomfortably, making him sway and hit against the wall. He didn’t want to look at Jacob’s expression. The disgust, the fear.

Instead, Jacob pulled his hand close, and Ned felt the softness of his lips against his knuckles. He finally looked up at the man, but in confusion and…gratefulness. Looking in Jacob’s eyes, all he could see was acceptance and warmth and then his vision was blurring and his eyes were burning and he had to blink the tears back. They ran down his cheeks regardless in warm streaks, and the Assassin reached to brush them away. “Cock or cunt, you’re still a man. And I still really, really like you,”

 _Oh my God_. Ned used his free hand to swipe at the tracks on his cheeks, but he couldn’t hold back his laughter. Jacob always knew how to make him smile, even if he had to be crude. “Oh my God Jacob you’re so disgusting,” the carriage pulled to the side of the road and from the corner of his eyes, Ned could see the restaurant they’d been invited to. He pressed Jacob’s hand against his face, turning his head to kiss his palm. “Thank you,” he kissed his hand again before releasing it to wipe at his eyes and make himself look presentable.

Jacob winked at him, grabbed his eagle-headed cane from the carriage floor and opened the door. “What are men like me for?” he fixed his top hat—one of the nicer ones thank God—and stepped onto the sidewalk. He turned and extended a hand to help Ned down. The thief took his hand and hopped onto the sidewalk, closing the door behind him. “Now come on, I have some rich people to glare at,” Jacob gestured for him to lead, and lead he did. He weaved through the crowd mingling in front of the building, half jogged up the stairs and made a beeline for the steward once they were in the lobby. The steward quickly checked their names and guided them to their table.

Already seated were Jeremiah, Emele and Edward Wynn.

The three of them were dressed to the nines and chatting amongst themselves, as if they didn’t know their reputation was about to take a severe blow. Ned had to stop, had to take a moment to properly steady himself. He couldn’t believe he was here, nine years later. There was a large hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at his owner, taking in his supportive smile and setting his jaw determinedly in response. Jacob removed his hand and Ned advanced toward the table.

God he always hated his mother’s dresses. Tonight she’d dressed in a fluffy monstrosity of yellow silk and black lace, with copious amounts of bows on the bertha and the sleeves. It looked new. It made him wonder how many of the dresses in his dowry they sold after he left. His father wasn’t much better. Dressed in a black suit with a deep emerald vest and shining gold accessories. They were showing off. Two can play at that game. He boldly grabbed onto the back of one of the two spare chairs and dragged it out to sit on it.

“Mister Wynn, Mistress Wynn, it's a pleasure to see you again,” he announced once he had their attention, plastering his best charming smile on his face and taking off his hat. Eddie and Jeremiah both stood, and he shook his father’s hand over the table. “I must apologise for our timing. Traffic in South London is insufferable,” he turned to Eddie and took his hand in turn. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t think we’ve met before. You are?”

Eddie was getting good at pretending not to know anything. “Congressman Edward Wynn. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Wynert, I presume,” Ned schooled his expression into one of pleasant surprise. They shook hands properly and Eddie glanced over at their dad.

But Jeremiah wasn’t quite done with introductions, it seemed. “And who did you bring with you, Mister Wynert?” he asked, his eyes staring behind Ned. _Your turn, Jacob_.

Everyone’s attention was on Jacob as he came around the table. He offered Jeremiah the hand that wasn’t holding his hat and cane, as well as a smile that could rival Ned’s in sheer fake charm. “Sir Jacob Frye, Knight of the Garter,” he and Jeremiah shook hands, the latter looking quite surprised at the company, despite Ned being sure he had no idea what it meant. Ned didn’t even know what it meant. Jacob moved on to kiss Emele’s hand—Making Ned hope and pray his lips didn’t actually touch her skin—and shake Eddie’s

Once he was back standing behind his chair and they’d all sat down, Ned decided an explanation was probably necessary. “Sir Frye is acting as my bodyguard tonight,” he held up a hand to quell the protest he could see behind his parents’ eyes. “It’s not that I don’t trust you specifically—” except that I don’t “—But I’ve had unpleasant experiences before and Sir Frye here is the best at what he does. If he can save the life of her Majesty Queen Victoria then I’m sure he can protect us from restaurant mishaps. Especially with such a high-profile guest,”

Emele looked Jacob up and down, an impressed smile turning her lips. “That’s quite the accomplishment, Sir Frye. How on Earth did you do that?”

“Yes,” Jeremiah rumbled. “It’s not everyday one is honoured for saving the life of a head of state,”

Jacob was silent for all of a second. “I’m not permitted to say much about it. Palace secretes and all. What I can tell you is that something dangerous got into the hands of a maniac and threatened her Majesty’s security,”

“That certainly sounds thrilling. You must have great pride in your country,” Eddie piped up. Ned refrained from snorting. Jacob had once told him about a pair of brass knuckles he wanted to have ‘God Save the Queen’ embossed onto. Most of his patriotism was a joke. Kind of like everything else.

Jacob looked Eddie up and down, a mischievous glint to his eyes. Ned internally groaned. Not now, Jacob. “Congressman? Does that make you some kind of Lord?” Ned internally groaned again. Because why would he think Jacob knew how the American legal system worked?

He leaned closer to the Assassin, speaking lowly out of politeness. “America doesn’t have nobility, Jacob,”

Eddie must have heard him, because he put on the biggest shit eating grin known to man. “Well, if your Lords are paid as well as I hear, maybe I should become one,”

There was a ripple of laughter around the table. Emele put her hand on top of Eddie’s, a gesture Ned had seen her do a thousand times. A gesture of praise for Eddie and Claire and one of warning for him. He forced his eyes away from the hand and onto his mother’s face. “American citizens pride ourselves on using gumption and a little hard work to get us far in society, rather than a high birth,”

If Ned had a glass of champagne, he'd have an accusatory sip of it. “High birth helps,” he settled for looking anywhere but the table, eyebrows raised.

If he was heard, he was ignored as the table fell into mindless chatter. It was mostly small-talk—Or dinner-talk as Ned liked to call it—jumping from one topic to the next. It wasn’t half as interesting as he thought it could be, and the arrival of waiters to ask after their meal choices was a relief. Though he was able to school his expression into mild interest, he was anything but. Every possible move he made, any blunder he didn’t notice could give him away and cause a scene. Any wrong move could trigger a memory in his parent’s mind and make them talk about their failure of a middle child.

He bumped his knee against Jacob’s, just to feel the steadying warmth of him.

This routine continued well into the arrival of their food. He was starting to think that’s all tonight was going to be. He kept quiet through most of it, enjoying the food he had ordered more than the conversation. It would have to be his job to steer conversation back on course.

He placed his cutlery down and covered his mouth to swallow. “You’re selling quite the collection of art, Mister and Mistress Wynn. I think you’ll be glad to hear everything made its way to the auction house in good time and impeccable condition,” he said, plastering on another charming (and almost genuine) smile.

Jeremiah must have seen where this was going. He set down his cutlery as well and folded his hands on the table. “And how much are you asking us to pay you, Mister Wynert?”

Ned’s put on smile broadened into a real one, and he pulled out the envelope he brought with him. “The agreed upon amount. I always pride myself on adding no extra charges,” he handed it over the table and watched as Jeremiah opened it and pulled the summary of their contract out. All their signatures were on that page, so if they decided to back out now, he was sure they knew he could take legal action.”Of course, I don’t expect to have it paid in full until August, and up until then any method of payment you prefer is fine,”

Jeremiah carefully folded the contract up and slid it under his plate. “You will have your payment after the auction, sir. In full,” Ned gave him a congenial little nod. He did so love punctual clients.

They fell back into a terse silence, allowing Ned to breathe a sigh of relief. This whole interaction had gone a lot better than he’d thought. He hadn’t been recognised at all. Claire and Eddie had been barely talked about, and Henrietta had been left out of conversation entirely. He may be able to get out of this conversation without wanting to throw up after all.

That relief was quickly shattered when Emele, who’d been gazing at Jacob for a long time, finally spoke up. “Sir Frye, I must say you quite remind me of my daughter,” she told him, sipping innocently on her glass. Jacob froze like a raccoon caught raiding a compost heap. Ned’s train of thought halted and he sucked in a breath. So much for not wanting to vomit.

“Excuse me, Mistress Wynn?” Jacob asked, looking both confused and…concerned? Like he had a feeling he knew who she was talking about. Ned knew exactly who she meant, and he could feel his abdominal muscles clenching in response to being not-so-subtly ridiculed and having his masculinity attacked.

Emele apparently didn’t realise how horrifyingly rude what she’d just said was. “You remind me of my daughter. She was intelligent but she was socially awkward and she bumbled and had no idea when to stop. That girl caused my husband and I a great deal of embarrassment,” if Ned wasn’t quite so thoroughly issued off by the gall of his mother’s statement, he’d laugh at the comparison to his younger self. His mom had to bring him up. Had to let everyone know how shit of a girl he was. He barely contained his glare. He must have been too obvious about it, because felt a hand settle on his knee. Not something suggestive or particularly sexual, just an anchor against the storm that threatened to drag him away from all sense. He placed his hand over it, acknowledging it and telling its owner that the gesture was appreciated. But Emele wasn’t finished yet. “My first daughter. Oh she was so awkward and didn’t know how to properly interact with people of her caste. So embarrassingly boyish, she didn’t realise when such things were inappropriate. She used to steal her brother’s clothes and dress in them and sometimes she’d steal our guest’s jewellery. Quite the situation to get ourselves out of, but we haven’t seen her in nine years. She simply disappeared one day. Couldn’t handle the responsibility privilege required.

“Mom!” Eddie exclaimed, both in warning and what might have been disgust that was entirely uncharacteristic for him nine years ago.

Ned clenched his fist so hard his nails dug into his palm. How _dare_ she speak about him in front of people like that? How _dare_ she use his childhood so freely? How _dare_ she use him for some twisted pity scheme? No, he wasn’t going to let her do this. Why shouldn’t now be the moment he finally lets them know how he really felt? “No, Mom. I left because I was dying in that house. Those punishments you put me through to try and convince me I was a girl were horrible. I was never allowed to act like a boy. Never. I left because living the rest of my life as a woman would be worse than hell,” he practically growled, directing his death glare toward his mother. He poured his every ounce of hatred and rage and pain into that glare. He wouldn’t deny himself the catharsis he was owed. Not after nine years.

Emele recoiled like she’d been struck, but it wasn’t long before she regained her composure and matched his glare with one of her own. “Mister Wynert you can’t possibly be implying that you, of all people, are my daughter,”

Ned’s boiling rage only intensified. She couldn’t even recognise her own blood. He lifted his chin defiantly, a gesture he did so often in his youth. “Take a good look at me and tell me I’m not your son,” he watched as her eyes analysed his face. He watched the shock and realisation fill her eyes. “Call me Netta Mom, I _dare_ you,”

It was Jeremiah who broke first. He studied Ned with the same look he gave the paperwork in his office so long ago. He must have recognised the jaw Ned got from him, the nose, his same intimidating expression Ned practiced and practiced and practiced as a boy. He put two and two together and spoke through grit teeth. “Henrietta, must you always make a scene? Must you ruin everything like this?”

Ned sneered at him, more disgusted than he’d ever been in his life. “Why would you prefer a miserable daughter over a healthy son? Why must you insist that your reputation was more important than my happiness? Why…” he pressed his lips together. “Why have you always cared about that more than me?” before his parents could properly reply, he pushed his plate away from him and downed his champagne in one gulp. “I have always been Ned, even when you named me Henrietta,” he stood from his seat and grabbed his hat from the floor, placing it firmly on his head.

“Netta I-” Jeremiah started.

“Ned what on Earth are you doing?” Eddie hissed, cutting his father off. Ned ignored him.

“What, Dad? Forbid me? I’m almost a thirty year old man. I can do what I fucking please,” he pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw three pound notes onto the table. “You can fuck off back to America and leave me alone. Oh, and I’d watch the auction house if I were you. Thieves are all too common in this city. Come on Frye, we’re leaving. I don’t associate with scum,” not waiting for Jacob to get out of his chair, Ned turned on his heel and stormed away from the table. The outburst felt good, felt like justice, almost. But the righteous anger was giving way to that shaky, unsteady feeling he usually felt after displaying any strong emotion like that. He clenched his fists to keep them from shaking too hard, continuing on his warpath to the front door. It wasn’t until he was outside and asked someone to call for his carriage that he let the brunt of it hit him.

He just told his parents who he really was.

It wasn’t like he could pretend they were okay with it. They probably weren’t, but at least he never had to see them again. He took off his hat to tangle his fingers in his hair. This was supposed to be a relief, a weight off his shoulders. So why didn’t it feel like that? Why did he still feel like shit?

Before he could fall into a pit of trying to untangle his weird emotions, there was a warm hand on his shoulder again. “Hey,” Jacob’s voice said, softly, comfortingly, like he knew Ned was struggling just a little bit. He came in front of him, brow creased slightly, a supportive smile on his face. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,”

Ned couldn’t put a word to how he felt. How was he feeling? He didn’t know, his insides felt like they were squirming around in his belly, and not in a good way. He was angry and he was glad and he was regretful, and he was tired. “I feel like shit,” he admitted. It summed him up rather succinctly.

Jacob nodded a couple of times, as if he knew what Ned meant. “You did a hard thing back there, standing up for yourself like that. I’m proud of you, for what that’s worth,”

Ned didn’t have the energy to smirk, so instead he released his hair to rest his hand on Jacob’s and give it a little squeeze. “Thanks,” he dropped his gaze, sighing deeply. He wanted to go to bed, but he didn’t want to feel alone falling asleep. He wanted—no, needed to feel the kind of safe Jacob made him feel. “Do you uh…want to come home with me? I could do with the company,”

“Of course, if you want me with you,” Jacob lowered his voice like he was sharing some sort of secret. “And if you want, I’ll buy you a fruit tart. There’s a good baker here somewhere, and I think you could use one. We did miss dessert,”

The thief looked up now, practically melting at the warmth and affection in Jacob’s expression. This man knew exactly what he needed, and would certainly be the death of him. “I’d like that,”

“Come on, then,” Jacob took Ned’s hand from his shoulder and used it to guide him into his carriage, which must have pulled up as they spoke. He climbed inside, letting the other man direct the driver. Once he was seated in the carriage and had closed the door behind him, Ned slid over and tucked himself into the side that he felt was made just for him by whatever Powers That Be. He let Jacob wrap an arm around him and pull him onto his lap, relishing in the warmth of him.

If he looked hard enough, he found he could stay like this forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooo boye theydies and gentlethems, how're we feeling about Ned's outburst? The poor man needed it, methinks.
> 
> What about that white powder? Any theories?
> 
> Many many thanks to Chloe for betaing this chapter, and to you! for reading it!
> 
> Assessment block is kicking me in the ass right now, but I promise I will continue to provide you with your weekly fluffy adventures.
> 
> Next up: sexual tension.


	23. Oh, To Be Alone With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein parties are attended, dances are had and the Theif gets just a touch jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Theydies and Gentlethems, Jessie is back and ohhhhh.... five weeks late? But hey, she's back and better than ever! Hope you enjoy!

Jacob was well and truly out of his depth tonight. That wasn’t because he hated parties, nor was it that he knew absolutely no one present. Usually he loved those things put together, they gave him the chance to meet new people and get fresh perspectives. The problem tonight was he had no idea what to talk about. All the conversations he heard as he drifted through the party were about topics he hadn’t the foggiest idea or ones he couldn’t talk to the level they were. So he avoided joining a conversation altogether.

For the most part, people left him alone anyway. He’d left the room that had been made into a makeshift theatre after the play had finished. Ned had let him watch it by himself, giving some excuse or other. He mentioned not liking the play before, and Jacob had to admit that it wasn’t the best. As he stalked the rooms of the house, his attention was split between looking for his thief and looking for their hostess. He hadn’t really met her, so finding her was proving to be a bit of a challenge. Staring at the necks of random women was becoming much too awkward to explain without looking like either a creep or a thief. Never mind that he was, technically, the latter at this occasion. Even if he did find her before he found Ned, he couldn’t risk stealing the necklace without being able to quickly switch in the decoy; which Ned had. Finding Ned afterwards would take too much time, time they could use to start pointing fingers at Jacob.

The Assassin stopped in a doorway, mindlessly running his thumb under his sash. His objective would have to be to find Ned, then find the Lady. _Shouldn’t be too hard._ Making sure no one was looking directly at him, he washed the colour from his vision. He glanced around at the grey party-goers, searching for that short, blue silhouette. He had no such luck, but attributed that to the range his Eagle Vision had. Each room was easily the size of a London flat. It was mania. 

He did, however, spot a woman’s golden silhouette not too far from where he was standing.

He blinked away the grey and stalled for a moment, considering his options. If he went looking for Ned, then he could risk losing Lady MacDonald. However, Ned could be equally as annoying to find later if Jacob didn’t go looking for him now. He blinked away the world’s colour again, casting a glance over his shoulder. Still no sign of the blue figure. Hopefully he was further into the house, in the Lady’s general direction. Jacob frowned, before taking the former, ‘let’s stick around the aristocracy until we can see Ned’ option and passing through the doorway he was in. He’d find Ned sooner or later, and would have something to show for the two-and-a-bit hours they’d been separated. Not that he was counting, or anything.

He crossed the next room, making an awkward bee-line for the gold coloured woman. He weaved around skirts and apologised about five times on his way toward the next door. He couldn’t tell if he was headed toward a ballroom or not, but he definitely heard music, and that music was getting louder the closer he got.

He wasn’t expecting to hear someone interrupt him on the metaphorical warpath. “Sir Frye!” they called, startling him into stillness. He whipped around, frowning at whoever the hell just spoke to him. After a second of staring blankly at the crowd behind him, he came face to face with Julie-Anne Wentworth. “Sir Frye! I didn’t expect to see _you_ here. How on Earth did you get an invitation?”

Jacob gaped for a second, a delighted smile spreading on his face. “The feeling, Miss Wentworth, is mutual,” his surprise was genuine. For all her fine looking dresses, neatness and her (usually) polite manner, Jacob didn’t expect her to be _this_ well connected. “I might ask you the same question,” he refrained from winking. He was meant to be _respectable_. But the little game the two of them had was always so amusing. Mostly a back-and-forth of snide comments neither of them really meant, they took whatever chance they had to jab at each other.

“You first,”

Jacob nodded once, twice. “I see, I see. Well, Mister Wynert gave me mine, addressed and all. Where _he_ got his, I’ve got none in the foggiest,” he stepped toward her, simply for ease of conversation. “Have you seen him by the way? He left to socialise while I watched the play and there are so many people here, I can find him,”

Miss Wentworth smiled like she’d heard some novelty. “I didn’t even know he was here, I’m sorry. But you have to join us! We’ve just come from the performance and we’re having the most riveting discussion about it,” the suggestion was innocent enough, but there was this devilish glint to her eye that told him that he couldn’t get out of it if he tried.

“I don’t think—” he started, before being cut off by her surprisingly strong grip on his wrist. She just about dragged him toward her little group of friends. The group parted to let them in without thinking and they slid in seamlessly. Miss Wentworth released him as if nothing had happened and gave the group a friendly smile. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my acquaintance, Sir Jacob Frye of the Garter,” not giving himself time to be socially awkward, he clasped his hands behind his back and bowed deeply to avoid offence. He didn’t know what ranks these people were, and he really didn’t want to deal with harried nobility.

The group apparently didn’t want to give him the time to be socially awkward either. “Tell me, Sir Frye,” one man asked, looking around at the group of people to see who’d attention he’d caught. “I saw you in the audience tonight. What did you think of Catherine’s speech at the end of the play? I myself found it quite moving,”

Jacob wanted to engage him, he really did (he himself had some _thoughts_ on the matter), but he had to keep his eyes on their target. He didn’t want to have to look for two people at once. But then again, he didn’t exactly want to offend. And he couldn’t find a way to politely extricate himself from the situation without being rude. But where would he even _start_ on the matter? “The speech was such an awkward and confusing turnaround for Catherine, and to think it was all because of what she’d been put through in the middle of the play. All I could think when he was watching it was _that poor woman_ . She’d put so much time and effort into _not_ marrying because she didn’t want to be what everyone else wanted of her, now look at her,” he said, casting a subtle glance over his shoulder. MacDonald was still hovering close to what could be the wall of the next room over. She was probably as trapped in conversation as he had been.

“But couldn’t Catherine’s change of heart come from a simple change in character? A wish to change from her earlier ways, a change for the better?” another woman asked, drawing his attention back inwards. He knew that he shouldn’t stay here for much longer. He wasn’t sure if his target would stay stationary and he didn’t want to lose her if he didn’t get a move on. 

The first man waved them both off. “Catherine’s change of heart was a simple realisation. One that she, in all honesty, should have made sooner,”

Jacob saw Miss Wentworth visibly ruffle beside him. “But why _should_ she have to change? The behaviour we see from her that is so condemnable is exactly what we see in Petruchio and all of his male friends. Why is it excusable for them? Why must we condemn Catherine, yet Praise her husband?”

Another man rolled his eyes, like she’d asked a simple question that had an obvious answer. “Because, Julie-Anne, if we excuse her mannish behaviour, then what does that say about our values? Petruchio saw that she would be happier acting as a woman ought to, and he corrected her,” he said, sipping from the glass in his hand. _You’re much too smug about this, mate,_ Jacob thought, frowning at the self satisfied smirk. How anyone could be proud of such a bullshit answer was beyond him.

He held out a hand to refute the suggestion. “Forgive me, sir, but Petruchio’s ‘correction’ might _have_ been out of care, but that doesn’t make it _right_ ,” he bit, only just restraining himself from properly sneering. He shook off the comparison of his last relationship and the marriage between the two characters. No what happened to Catherine wasn’t right, and he never wanted to see that happen to _anyone._ He knew Catherine’s predicament and found these people’s praise of her husband stupid at best and dangerous at worst. “Petruchio’s care is unfounded all the same. So what if Catherine is mannish? That’s no one’s concern but her own,”

“If it were no one’s concern, then how might we define man and womanhood? It is not up to us to say how men and women might act, just as it is not our place to question the way God has made us, or the roles he has asked us to perform,”

Jacob chuckled in his disbelief. _This prick._ He opened his mouth to reply but was stopped by a hand held in his direction by another woman in the group, who offered a congenial smile. “Gentlemen, please, now is not the time for such debate. Surely we can find a topic better suited to the mood of the evening,” she partitioned, glancing between the two of them as if she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He had the feeling she wouldn’t.

He bit the inside of his cheek, but allowed an agreeing smile to curl his lips. “Of course, Miss. My apologies,” he threw another quick glance over his shoulder, flicking between one perception of the world and the next. Lady MacDonald was in relatively the same spot, so he supposed she must have been deep in conversation. And, in the very edge of his vision, he caught a blue silhouette, alone and stationary. _There you are, Neddie boy._ He chose to ignore the fact that the sight of his companion put his mind at ease just the slightest bit, instead choosing to focus on the group he was with and his withdrawal. He clasped his hands together and took a step backwards, ready to bolt if need be. “Our time was short, and I did enjoy it, ladies and gents, but I have other business to attend to. I wish you all a lovely evening,” he told them, bowing deeply once again. 

He straightened, turned away and took a few steps, pausing as he caught the swaying of a maroon skirt at the bottom of his vision. He pivoted to face Miss Wentworth, who stared up at him with just a hint of the earlier mischief in her light green eyes. “You two are here for the necklace, aren’t you?” he nodded and she nodded back. “I would warn you to be careful, but you’re the great Jacob Frye,”

“Miss Wentworth, I can assure you that _I_ don’t need luck. And neither does Ned. We’ve got enough skills between the two of us, I think,”

Miss Wentworth chuckled, pressing a hand into his shoulder to spin him around. “Off you go then. And get out of here quickly when you’ve made the switch. You should be able to leg it out the front door before anyone notices,”

He tipped an imaginary hat at her (his actual hat was tucked away in a cloakroom at the front of the house) and started into the crowd. Continuing his bee-line for the door, he added an extra spring in his step. No, he didn’t like the things Miss Wentworth’s friends had said, but he could hear music and excited chatter and that meant _dancing_ . And Ned was where the dancing was and dear _God_ he wanted to dance with Ned again. The colourful clothes around him blurred into a rainbow mess and he had to physically refrain from running. There was no real reason for him to be so excited, but he found that he couldn’t help himself. The energetic music, the lightness in his heart, the thrill of this evening’s illicit plans all gave him more energy than he could appropriately express. 

He swung into the doorway and into the hall attached to both rooms and quickly made for the door into the next room. The music was so loud now, loud enough that it felt as if his heart were beating to match the joyous melody. He strode through the door, pausing for just a moment to look around the room.

On one side, a golden figure, standing with friends and laughing about something he hadn’t heard. On the other, a blue silhouette, standing close to the wall and still sipping on a champagne glass. 

The choice between the two was easy. 

He turned toward Ned, swerving around people standing in his way. As he drew closer, Ned’s solid colour faded, letting Jacob take all of him in. In the candlelight, everything about him was darker, more refined, somehow fantastical. His new navy coloured suit and velvet lapel grabbed onto the light and rendered it void. His hair, just slightly too long and a mass of soft waves, somehow looked as curated and perfect and as striking as the rest of him. He stood straight, his unoccupied hand slipped casually into his pocket, watching the dancing with a critical expression. Jacob would call it an eagle eye, if he didn’t know that the real thing was much different. 

If he could paint as well as he could beat someone’s head in, he’d save Ned in this moment forever.

He slowed to a simple stroll once he was close to his thief, standing beside him at a respectable distance. “You’re the prettiest wallflower I’ve ever seen,” he admitted, allowing himself to drag his eyes up and down the other man’s form one last time.

If Ned noticed, he didn’t show it. Instead, he chuckled and looked up at Jacob with sly eyes. “I’m not being a wallflower. I’m staying focused on the job, looking for our target,” he corrected with an amused raise of an eyebrow.

“No need for that, I’ve found her,”

The easygoing look quickly became a frown. “How the hell did you do that?”

Jacob shrugged and pointed at the golden silhouette by the far wall. “She’s over there,”

“Which one? Green and pink dress?”

He shrugged again, squinting a little in order to turn her from gold to regain her colours. It didn’t work. “I have no idea, she’s all one colour,”

“What?"

“I’ll explain later, who’s she standing next to?”

“Black suit, indigo vest,”

Jacob’s gaze flicked to the man standing next to his target. Indeed, he was wearing a black suit with a deep purple vest. “That’s her,”

Ned made a disappointed, sort of frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “She’s been standing there watching the dancing for the past forty-five minutes. We’re gonna need to single her out,” his frown deepened and he sipped on his champagne. 

Jacob mirrored the expression. They had to find a way to extricate her from her friends without seeming too forceful, too suspicious, or too presumptive. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any ideas,”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I did,”

He supposed that was true. Turning back to the dancing, he stared, momentarily mesmerised by the movement. The spinning and the colours and the way they moved to the music. He wasn’t sure what they were dancing, he’d never seen it before and he’d certainly never heard the song it was played with. But it struck him that a dance would be an excellent way to get a truly private conversation in, and an even better way to get someone alone. “I’ve got one,”

He felt more than he saw Ned watching him. It felt curious, not heavy, though he supposed that could easily change. There was a pause where he thought to wait for Ned’s reply. “Well?” he asked expectantly. “Are you just gonna leave me hanging like that?”

Jacob couldn’t help the lazy grin on his face as he looked down at the other man, his thief. “How generous are you feeling tonight, Neddie boy?”

Ned looked him up and down suspiciously, his eyes slitting just a little bit. “That depends on how generous you’re asking me to be,” he took another languorous sip from what had become dregs in his glass.

Now it was Jacob’s turn to look him up and down. “I think if I were to _dance_ with the Lady, maybe we could get close to her, get her alone?” he moved his arm to the side, bridging the gap between them just enough to brush knuckles with the man he so adored. “Of course, I’d…” he felt Ned’s cold fingers twitching to touch his. “I want to dance with you first,”

Ned’s champagne hand slowly dropped to his side and he met Jacob’s eyes, regarding him carefully. There was the weight, the bitten lip he was hiding so well. It was a stupid idea, a man dancing with a man like he would with a woman, but Jacob didn’t care, and Ned certainly didn’t seem to mind at all. “I’ll dance with you, just to make sure you’re up to scratch,” he said, not missing a beat.

Jacob dared to wrap his hand around Ned’s, but wasn’t so bold as to kiss it. Ned didn’t pull away. They stood there for a minute, maybe more than that, before he realised that hand holding in public wasn’t quite so acceptable. “We’d better find a place to… practice, then. I don’t think we want to cause a scandal quite just yet. Did you get a dance card?” he asked, glancing around for a place they could go. He saw a set of stairs at the end of the room behind a pair of open glass doors, beyond which he guessed lay a garden. They could certainly find somewhere there, if they tried. 

The music ground to a stop as if to emphasise the unimpressed look Ned fixed him with. “Do I look like a woman to you, Frye?”

Jacob furrowed his brow, confused. “No… What has that got to do with dance cards?”

“Only women get dance cards. You didn’t get one, did you?” Ned took the shake of his head as an answer. “My point exactly. Now come on, where are we going?”

He didn’t give himself time to pause again, giving Ned a playful wink before swishing away, his hand slipping away from the other’s. He strode toward those glass doors, casting what he hoped was a sultry look over his shoulder as he walked. As the cold air from outside washed over him, he realised that he hadn’t noticed how hot the party was. Uncomfortably so, compared to the night’s temperature. He shivered at the feeling but was quickly on the stairs, peering over the side in the hope of finding a quiet spot beside them. He skipped the last two steps, neatly landing on the gravel path and pivoting to see if Ned was still following him.

The thief was, in fact, following, and walked right past him into the entrance of a hedge maze. Jacob quirked his eyebrows, going into the maze after him. Faced with the option of turning left or right, he stood stationary and debated using Eagle Vision to find him. “You know you can’t properly hide from me,”

“Using your Assassin magic is cheating and you know it,” Ned scolded.

 _Right it is then,_ Jacob thought, chuckling as he turned sharply to the right. “How will you know if I use it?” he joked, mostly to keep the sound of Ned’s voice going. Not because he liked the sound of it, the drag and flow of his words. That may have been _a_ reason, but the _main_ reason was to follow the sound of that beautiful voice right back to its owner.

“I won’t, but I’m trusting you,”

“Does that trust extend to not using my sense of hearing?” he took a left at the next junction, taking a guess that Ned was directly in front of him. The pattern of the maze so far was simple enough, one designed for a chase rather than confusion.

“I’ll just stop talking then,” and that was that. He laughed, jogging around the corner after the faint footsteps he could hear. The sound of feet on gravel, giving way to shoes on tiles, then the striking of a match.

Jacob chose another right, jogged around that corner too, and stopped in his tracks at the sight before him. Ned was going around the circular centre of the maze, lighting candles that had been evenly spaced around the perimeter. He stood to face the Assassin, tucking his tinder box into his suit. The candlelight here had an entirely different feel to inside. Here it was lighter, innocent, romantic. Maybe it was the flowers in full bloom behind him. The central courtyard had been edged in a different bush to the rest of the maze, one that flourished with pretty white flowers and gave off a heady perfume. He smirked a little, stepping into the circle’s centre and holding out a hand in offering. “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Sir Frye?” he asked. Jacob stared at him, at the candles, at the flowers, at the offered hand. He took a few steps to take the hand, watching as Ned bent down to press a kiss to his knuckles.

He felt a heat rise in his cheeks that he knew for certain wasn’t a late reaction to whatever alcohol he’d had that evening. “I’m sure the pleasure, Mister Wynert, will be all mine,”

They shared a laugh (no, his heart didn’t skip a beat when Ned snorted at the line, thank-you-very-much) and Ned drew him close, resting his other hand on his waist. At their current proximity, the poor man had to crane his neck just a tiny bit. Jacob tried not to again at the awkwardness, placing his hand on Ned’s shoulder. His thief put on a considerate expression for just a moment, before breaking into a smile again. “I think I’d rather call you Jacob. Do you mind if I lead?” his hand slid across Jacob’s waist, to a position more suitable for a waltz.

Jacob didn’t mind, not really. If Ned wanted to lead then Jacob would gladly follow him. He trusted Ned as much as Ned trusted him. “Only if you agree to give me a kiss afterwards,” he crooned, earning another joyous, glorious laugh for his efforts.

“Mmm, I’ll think about it,” Jacob pouted, putting all of his energy into the turn of his lower lip and eyes that he’d been told resembled that of a kicked puppy. Ned met him with an unwavering, slightly unimpressed, stare. “Only if you’re a very good boy,”

Jacob swallowed thickly, hoping and praying that his growing blush wasn’t so obvious. His entire being halted at the words, the sultry tone with which they were said and the implication of said tone. His heart refused to beat, and his lungs refused to work. His knees weakened for a fraction of a second and he certainly felt… _something_ awaken inside of him. Normally he’d hate being called such a thing, but now… he cleared his throat in the hope that his voice would not squeak. His eyes darted to the candle light that illuminated the space, hoping to distract from the feeling close to his gut. “I’m starting to think you planned coming out here,”

Ned chuckled again, casting his gaze toward their shoes. “You got me there. I might have snuck in and set this up while you were watching the play,” he admitted, looking back up with a glint in his eyes that dared his companion to say something about it. Jacob said nothing, for the music had begun again, a delightful and intense song, one he had never heard before. “It’s a Russian Waltz, they love to start off strong with those. Now, follow my lead,”

Ned stepped forward, Jacob stepped backwards and off they went. 

The song was the perfect tempo for a simple waltz, so it was a simple waltz they danced. Ned guided him through the box pattern of steps, stopping every third corner they made to stand on his toes and twirl the taller man. They both laughed the first couple of times Jacob got stuck, but they recovered quickly and were back with the rhythm before regaining lost time became a struggle. The more they danced, the more Jacob lost his sense of the world around them. It was just him, Ned and the music that filled his very soul. The music wound around him, lifted him, carried him away, but it was Ned who kept his feet firmly on the ground, who kept him anchored to the real world. And yet, it was as if neither of their feet were in reality. It felt like they _could_ float away, this moment’s magic was just that strong. His eyes met Ned’s, whose own gaze held him in return. A gaze full of yearning and wants so thinly veiled. It was warmth and comfort and home all at once, and Jacob found himself willing to drown, willing to give himself to this man, even for a fraction of what was in those eyes in return. He thought he could feel Ned’s heartbeat, hear it, if he focused hard enough. It wasn’t too difficult for him to imagine their hearts beating in unison. Maybe, just maybe, Ned wanted the same things he did.

The music slowed and so did they, gently spinning to a stop. They stood there for a good while, simply sharing breaths, heartbeats, whatever space they had; neither daring to make a sound lest it fracture something in the air around them.

Jacob vaguely heard the sounds of applause from the party inside. Figuring he ought to say _something_ romantic, he swallowed the growing lump in his throat to begin. “Ned—”

Ned chuckled breathlessly. He was close, so close. Jacob could kiss him. “Jacob,”

He swallowed again, wracking his brains for something, anything to say. “I think…” what was he thinking? His brain felt like mush, a mess of adoration and euphoria and vague thoughts about how close they were at this moment. “I think that was the most magical five minutes I’ve ever experienced. I-I think you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met,”

Ned was caught off guard by the comment, he could tell. The thief stared at him for a good few seconds. “Yeah?” he murmured, sounding much more nervous than he looked. “Care to elaborate on that one?”

“I think if we were to stay like this forever, I would be the happiest man on Earth. Even if we didn’t, but maybe we let…”

The quiet little laugh made him trail off, and Ned reached up to cup his cheek with one hand. “I could see myself falling in love with you too,” he laughed again, sliding his hand down to run his fingers through Jacob’s beard. “I think, sometimes, when there’s no one around to call me stupid for it, that I could give all of me to you and not want you to give me anything in return, except for the way you make me feel,”

Jacob pressed the hand to his face, turning his head to place a kiss on Ned’s palm. “These days, I feel the same way. I would be yours and… maybe you’d be mine,”

Ned shut his eyes and smiled, leaning into Jacob and nestling his ear against his chest. “God, we sound like we’re getting married,”

Jacob tucked his nose into the other man’s hair, taking in the lemony smell that felt so much like him now. A scent that belonged to him, that Jacob had started to associate with him. “I don’t think that would be so bad. But…” they couldn’t. Not now. Not until the threat of poison that loomed over their heads was gone and he could come back to his sweetheart safe and sound. Maybe not for another little while, until they were both a bit more ready for it. “Not yet,”

“No, not yet,” Ned pulled away from Jacob’s chest, cupping his cheek again to kiss the Assassin on the forehead. “But, I think I’d like to dance another song with you,”

Jacob was about to nod in agreement when something nagged at the back of his mind. Reluctantly, he dragged his attention away from Ned and cast it outwards, toward the maze. _Are those footsteps?_ He listened intently, separating the layers of the music from the sound. _Shit, that is footsteps._ He washed the world grey, eyes darting around the maze. Sure enough, a grey silhouette was making its way through the hedges, advancing towards them. “As lovely as that sounds, it may have to wait until we’re home. Someone’s coming,” he quickly kissed Ned on the cheek, before grabbing the hand still on his waist and using it to guide the thief toward and out of the maze. Now, it seemed, was the part where he considered the next bit of his plan. “Do you have the decoy on you?”

Ned recovered quickly from the shock of being pulled out of such a soft and tender moment and let himself be led, following Jacob post-haste. “Of course I do. How exactly are you going to make the switch in the middle of a dance?”

They exited the maze and made for the stairs, to which their target, Jacob noticed, had moved quite close to in the past while. He just had to hope she was in the mood for a dance. “If we’re dancing a quadrille, or even a galop we can easily switch necklaces, I just have to be quick,” logistically it _could_ work, provided Ned gave him the fake before he took the real one off. Getting them off and on again could be a problem if people were paying too much attention to what his hands were doing.

“Are you sure you can get it off her in public? Discreetly getting a necklace off in the middle of a dance is hard, especially if you want to be polite. And it’s near impossible if you get something like a mazurka,”

“You can dance with her if you like,”

They reached the top of the stairs and headed straight into the door. Ned stopped, squeezed Jacob’s hand and let him go. “I’m not high enough of a rank to ask her to dance, and I don’t feel like offending her because I was inappropriate,”

“Well then, I guess it’s time for her to be damn offended,”

Ned fixed him with a suspicious squint. “What, exactly, are you planning?”

If he was going to get the necklace off of her without causing a scandal or getting caught, he would have to get her alone. Getting a woman alone without making it weird at a party had somehow become one of Jacob’s specialties. “I... am going to flirt with Lady Loreena MacDonald,” before Ned could call him an absolute idiot, he turned on his heel, cast a final look he hoped conveyed the remorse he felt and walked away. He pushed down the weird feeling that rose to the surface, the guilt that threatened to eat at him. Though it felt wrong, this flirtation was necessary and wouldn’t be for very long anyway.

He strode toward the golden figure, barely noticing as her solid colour faded. She was, indeed, wearing a pink and green dress, a frock of deep magenta and grassy green that outshone most of the outfits at the party by sheer richness. His eyes drifted to the thing catching the light at her neck.

_Holy shit, that’s a big necklace._

The necklace was truly a statement, large pale pink and vibrant, grassy green gemstones were strung together, held in a chain by a single tiny golden ornament between each golden setting. The design itself wasn’t too complex, but the scalloped edges of the settings were delicate enough to cause some concern. They’d just have to hope the glass and pinchbeck fake held up under scrutiny.

He came to a stop not too far from the group she stood with, making sure to look as bored as he could in their general direction. He’d noticed that, at parties, if you stood alone for long enough, then people tended to notice and at least _try_ to talk to you. He couldn’t hear exactly what they were talking about (God knows there were too many conversations to effectively sift through any of them) but he did catch a drastic change in tone. Their voices went from general chatter to excitable whispering in the span of about a second.

He was just about to look back at the group when they stopped their violent whispering and went silent. “Excuse me, sir,” one of them called, and he made a bit of a show of being startled out of his thoughts and looking over his shoulder at them. He locked eyes with the woman to the left of his target, the one he assumed had called him. “I’m sorry to bother you, but you look quite lonely sir. Would you like to join us?” she asked, giving him a kind little smile.

Jacob tried his best to look bashful, hesitating before he spoke; “If Lady MacDonald would not mind my being there,” he replied, deflecting his gaze to the Lady in question. 

If anything, she was encouraging him. “Please, sir, I insist,” she offered her hand, an invitation for him to take it. He stepped toward the three women, taking the Lady’s hand to kiss it and daringly linger there. She didn’t seem to mind, only taking her hand away when he chose to release it. She sized him up like he was her next meal, rather than a guest. “I’ve certainly seen your face before, but I simply cannot think where we might have met. What might your name be, sir?”

 _Maybe this will be easier than I thought._ “Jacob Frye, but my friends tend to call me ‘sir’,” he joked, grinning like a rogue in a melodrama at the delighted sounding giggles the women gave him.

“Frye… You and your sister were knighted last year, were you not? I must have remembered your face from that ill fated ball,”

At said ball, Jacob had mostly refrained from socialising while he waited for Evie to get the plans. How she recognised him, he had no idea. “I was told that was a secret, ma’am,”

She shrugged, as if he had asked a trivial, easily deflected question. “Gossip moves quickly at court, and when such a young man and woman stroll through the halls of Buckingham Palace so… strikingly dressed and claiming the Queen has asked after them, _everyone_ wants to hear about it,”

 _Oh. Shit._ He internally groaned. When they first received that summons, he suggested they climb through the window to avoid running into any courtiers. Evie had said they didn’t want to be met with a volley of gunfire halfway up the wall. He hoped none of Her Majesty’s court knew exactly what they were doing for their Queen. He didn’t let himself show any concern about what she might know, however. He had to remain somewhat dashing. “Well then, I must say that I’m flattered to have the attention of the court,”

“You did quite the valiant thing, running into danger like that. Maybe the dashing young knight will impress me with tales of his exploits?”

The music fell silent, and the four of them directed their attention toward the band. They would probably start a new song soon. Now was his only chance to get her properly alone. Or, at least, as alone as he could. “If it would please the Lady, I could elaborate over a dance?” he suggested, giving her his full attention as he bowed slightly. Getting the necklace off like this would be terribly awkward, but he was creative. He could work it out.

Lady MacDonald looked back at him, seeming dissatisfied with the suggestion. No dancing, then. “I find, Sir Frye, that I’m not quite in the mood for dancing,” her eyes drifted up and down his body rather unsubtly. The surprise on his face wasn’t fake. Things had just gotten complicated. He’d have to find a way to get Ned over here. See if they could steer her into a place with less witnesses. Or maybe Ned could while Jacob kept her friends entertained. “I am, however, in the mood for a stroll. What do you say?”

He glanced between the Lady’s two friends, who’d been silent this whole conversation. Surely she didn’t want to leave them behind? “The four of us? I see no problem with that,” he tried not to be presumptive, but hoped that just maybe she would be open to having a fifth person join their party. Of course, if it was the five of them, things could be a little tricky, but they could manage.

There was an extended pause, during which the Lady’s companions took a hint, curtsied to her and began walking away. “No, Sir Frye. I was thinking just the two of us,” she gave him a rather sultry look, before strutting away in the direction of the glass doors. This woman was incredibly forward, especially with a man she’d just met. There was no denying she was attractive, and there was no denying that he wouldn’t mind the flirting and the forwardness if she wasn’t married. But she was just that. Married. But he couldn’t let a little (big) fact like that get in his way. He started after her, only just catching the confused expression on Ned’s face as he passed him. All he could do was wink and follow the Lady out the door, and hope that Ned had the good sense to follow them.

\---

He had lost Jacob _fucking_ Frye, as well as their target. Not that he was happy that Jacob was flirting with her, or that he walked away with her, or that seemed to _enjoy_ the sultry look she gave him, or the excessive swaying of her skirt as she walked away from him. But it was a necessary evil and one Ned would just have to build a bridge and get over. Still, he cursed the Assassin anyway, as he practically stormed down the stone path. He was walking along a brick wall, close to some stables, guessing by the sounds of snuffling and blustering horses. While he doubted that Lady MacDonald would bring Jacob here, it didn’t hurt to look. He cursed Jacob for agreeing to go with her, he cursed Lady MacDonald for being so damn hard to find, he cursed himself for being more annoyed by their impromptu stroll than absolutely necessary.

No, he wasn’t jealous fuck-you-very-much.

He halted at the sound of effeminate giggling, frowning in its general direction. That couldn’t be them. He took a few steps forward, closer to the wall’s corner. There was another giggle, then some more silence. It wasn’t until he heard voices behind the hedge that lined the path that he was really, properly annoyed at his companion. “M’Lady, what—mmm—what will your husband think?” Jacob’s voice asked. Something in Ned’s gut twisted, something told him he wouldn’t like what he was going to see. 

He wasn’t jealous.

He strode around the corner, bracing himself for whatever he would walk in on. “My husband doesn’t care,” a woman—certainly Lady MacDonald—said as the two of them came into view. And what a view it was. She and Jacob were pressed up together against the wall. Kissing. Jacob even had his hand resting on the back of her neck. His other hand was in the small of her neck, pulling her closer to him, flush against his body. Her hand was resting on his cheek, dangerously close to winding in his hair. _Her_ other hand was up against the wall, keeping him in place should he try to sidestep her.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. There was no way this was happening. But he could barely watch it. He hated seeing Jacob kiss her. He wanted to be her right now, pressing the Assassin against the wall, kissing him senseless. _He_ wanted to be the one being pulled against the strong, solid warmth of him. _He_ wanted to be the only one lost in those eyes.

Okay, maybe he was a little jealous.

He walked toward them, stopping a foot or two away and giving a polite cough to draw their attention. They pulled apart and Lady MacDonald whipped around to face him with the speed of someone who’d been caught red handed. Ned tried his hardest not to glare at her with every ounce of hatred he had in his body. Jacob looked over at him slower than she did, but once they locked eyes, Ned caught the sly, daring look on his face. _You. Mother. Fucker,_ he thought, staring him down. He was _trying_ to make him jealous. He knew exactly what he was doing. Ned matched his self satisfied smirk with one of his own. _Two can play at that game._

He looked away, pretending to be terribly embarrassed by the state of the two people in front of him. “My apologies, I’ve walked in at the wrong time,” he said, looking anywhere but at them. There was the sound of rustling fabric and quiet footsteps.

One of them cleared their throats, trying to pretend like they hadn’t been engaged in a criminal conversation. “No, sir. You have… kindly reminded me that I must return to my guests,” there was another awkward silence, during which Ned glanced at the guilty parties, noted the Lady’s necklace had somehow found it’s way off of her neck, and watched her walk toward him.

He extended an arm to stop her as she strode past. “Your secret is safe with me,” he purred, pouring just a little bit too much smugness into the statement. She stared him down, but he did not wither, matching her warning glare with his smug look. He lowered his arm and let her pass, turning his full attention to Jacob. Waiting until the lady was gone, he paused to speak. “I’ve got to say, I’m a little bit jealous,”

Jacob paused, looking stunned by the frankness of the statement. “Jealous?” he looked Ned up and down, trying to gauge what his body language meant. Ned smiled tightly. A promise, a threat. If Jacob didn’t think that he wouldn’t try to get back at him, he had another thing coming. 

“Mhm. Jealous,” he bent down to place the pinchbeck-and-gold fake on the ground where the lady had walked past him, before taking a step into the Assassin’s personal space. Their closeness was different, now. Dangerous, experimental and barely restrained. “Jealous that you let her kiss you. Jealous that you kissed her back,”

The Assassin was looking down at him now, but Ned could see his throat bobbing, see the challenge and defiance in his gaze, and see the quickly deteriorating resolve. “Am I not allowed to kiss people I find attractive?”

“See, Jacob, that’s the thing. I don’t want you to,” They were practically chest to chest. He could hear and feel Jacob fight to keep his breathing steady, even as _his_ heart beat its own staccato. “I want to be the one you kiss. The _only_ one you kiss. You got that?” he growled, standing on his toes to say it in his companion’s ear.

Jacob, the bastard that he was, turned Ned’s head so that they could lock gazes. That look in his eye, that arrogance he usually had about him, had somehow increased tenfold. There was certainly no small amount of lust in those eyes, too, if Ned wasn’t mistaken. “Then why don’t you kiss me and prove it?”

Their faces were close now, enough to bump noses with every breath they shared. He could see the emotions warring inside Jacob’s head. Lust and want and yearning and maybe even something innocent. Ned decided that maybe he _could_ kiss him. He certainly _wanted_ to. And Jacob’s gaze darted between Ned’s lips and his eyes like he couldn’t decide on what to do. They were close enough that if either of them wanted to, they could just lean in, brush lips and that would be it. They would be kissing and biting and it would be vicious and not at all romantic.

 _Fuck it,_ Ned thought, grasping Jacob’s lapels and pulling him into a kiss.

He had been right, there was nothing chaste or innocent about the way their lips collided. It was forceful and heated and more of a war than a kiss. It was pushing and pulling and _claiming._ They were claiming each other with each collision and scrape of teeth. Ned used his jealousy to fuel him, make his heart beat and his lips more insistent, more urgent. And just like that, like he knew he would, Jacob had become pliant under him. No less forceful or intense, just more willing to be led where Ned chose to guide him. Ned snaked his hands into Jacob’s hair, tangling his fingers in the long locks at the top of his head. He pulled on those strands, pulling them apart to come up for air. “Is that proof enough for you?” he panted, a stupid grin spreading on his face.

Jacob, it seemed, wasn’t quite convinced. Barely pausing to take a breath, he bent his knees so that they were level for just a moment, before Ned felt warm hands slide under his thighs and he was lifted into the air, matching Jacob's height. He yelped and grabbed onto the larger man’s shoulders to steady himself, but quickly recovered and saw his devilish grin mirrored by Jacob. “I must say, I’m not exactly sure,” His hands grabbed at the soft flesh of Ned’s legs, grasping maybe a little too hard. He giggled ( _actually_ giggled, a noise Ned never expected to hear) and spun around to press Ned into the wall and pin him there. They simply gazed at each other, sharing breaths once more, before Ned cupped Jacob’s face none too gently and surging forward to claim his lips once more.

They kissed and kissed and kissed, a sloppy and open mouthed battle once more. A meeting of tongues, and a marking. A claim from both of them. Ned poured his jealousy and want as he pressed into Jacob. _Mine, mine, mine,_ he thought, and dear _God_ did he wish it were true. He wanted Jacob’s sass and stupidity, his energy and his recklessness. He wanted all of him, and he wanted him to _know_ it.

They broke for air again and Ned found himself laughing, a private sound meant only for moments like this bubbling from his chest. He rested his forehead against his lover’s—surely that was what they were now—and let his eyes flutter closed. “Shit, Frye,” he breathed, stealing one or two chaste kisses between words. “Is that how you kiss a man every damn time?” It had been like that the last time, too. Leaving him breathless, giddy and itching for _more more more._

The stupid smile in Jacob’s voice was evidence enough. He caught Ned in another kiss, slow and languid, like he had all the time in the world to contemplate an answer. “Only the ones I really fancy,” he confessed, nuzzling with Ned and giggling again. Ned could get addicted to that sound. It was deep like his voice, and rumbly, like his joy brought on a summer storm. “Now what do you say about getting out of here?”

Ned opened his eyes and felt his grin soften, become more delighted than mischievous. He moved one of his hands to cup Jacob’s cheek, stroking a thumb along his cheekbone. “I’ll take you back to my house? We can get some sleep there,” _maybe together, in the same bed_. If they hadn’t done it before he might have blushed. But then again, asking to do so just for the sake of being together, sleeping together felt odd. It wasn’t a bad odd, but it was an odd that gave him more than just the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. It made him feel like a smitten sixteen-year-old awkwardly asking a debutante on a walk. But maybe that was a good thing. If he thought about it, really thought about it, he found that the idea of Jacob being in his house more often, even sharing his bed, made him stupidly happy. There was probably a name for that feeling (a long winded German one, to be exact) for such a feeling, but maybe the feeling didn’t need a name.

Jacob raised an eyebrow at him, a sly twinkle in his eye. “Is sleep what they’re calling it these days?” that twinkle in his eyes was accompanied by a wink and a hand that slid up Ned’s thigh just a touch, but for enough to make him shudder and clutch at the collar of Jacob’s jacket. He got the picture, and boy was it vivid.

His laugh couldn’t be helped, though, and he pressed their foreheads together again. “You’re disgusting,” he stole one final kiss before leaning back and holding the Assassin at arm's length. “Now put me down, and let’s go. I need a bath and some warm sheets as soon as yesterday,”

He was obliged, Jacob’s hands sliding rather daringly further up his legs. Ned’s breath caught as he moved, as his hands wandered and explored. He tried to pretend that it wasn’t affecting him, even though his breath caught and his knees went weak. He didn’t want to think about what _else_ about him was affected, instead focusing on straightening his legs and sliding through Jacob’s arms. His feet touched solid ground and he looked up at him, reaching out to flatten Jacob’s lapels and smooth out the shirt that had become rumpled by their earlier activities. The man himself, it seemed, wasn’t done with him yet, for he wrapped his hands around his waist and pulled him close, so that their torsos were flush and there was very little room between them anywhere else. “I suppose you want me to warm your bed, then,”

Ned stalled, caught off guard by the question. He quite liked that idea, that image. Even if he doubted Jacob could ever be quite so patient to actually warm anyone’s bed. “For tonight, at least,”

“And what about other nights?”

Ned smirked up at Jacob, releasing his lapels and patting his chest. “We’ll talk about that when we’re up to it. Now come on,” He slipped away from Jacob with one step, then two. “I’ll have my carriage called,” he turned on his heel and stepped away, watching Jacob’s delighted (and maybe just a little lustful, but that was beside the point) expression over his shoulder before looking toward the house and walking away.

Tonight was going to be rather interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got romance, we've got seduction, we've got theft, we've got Jacob finally getting to touch a butt. This chapter is starting to look like a bond film.
> 
> I do so very much apologise for falling off the face of the Earth. I had my first assessment block recently and then I just kinda.... forgot. Year 12 really do be kicking me in the butt. In light off said year kicking said but, I've decided to slow down on the posts to not one every week, but one every... whenever I finish a chapter after I finish my homework (Hi Mrs. Connor, yes I'll get to it.) just so I can keep on top of things this year. I won't forget about you I'll just... not forgetaboutmyschoolwork.
> 
> THAT BEING SAID! I'm happy to be back and I'm happy to still be writing. And I've forgotten where I was going with this paragraph. 
> 
> Big thanks to Chloe for Betaing this chapter and for my mate Nick for enlightening me to the fact that I needed to rewrite the second half of this chapter. And thank you! For reading it! And special thanks to that ONE person who kept coming back every day to see if it's been updated. Very cool!
> 
> Next Up: Oh god poor Jacob


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